


Nowhere Bound

by mangochi



Series: In Between [2]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Back rubs, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Massages, Motels, Motorcycles, Resolved Sexual Tension, Road Trips, Showers, Skinny Dipping, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vegas, hot tubs, inappropriate use of chocolate fondue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 12:34:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1119880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangochi/pseuds/mangochi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim makes good on his promise and takes Spock on a week-long trip to Arizona.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day One

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [无拘无束](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1576355) by [cindyfxx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cindyfxx/pseuds/cindyfxx)



" _ **I have never been to Arizona."**_

_Jim was too caught off guard by the unexpected statement to answer, his mouth gaping and closing uncertainly until he hesitantly tried to clarify, "Arizona?"_

" _ **As most of my time on Earth has been spent on Starfleet business, I have never taken the opportunity to visit the acclaimed natural spectacles of the planet. I believe there is one such spectacle in the state of Arizona.."**_

_Jim frowned in concentration. He'd never been particularly good at guessing games. "Are you- are you talking about the Grand Canyon?"_

" _ **It is not so 'grand', I believe. Vulcan's canyons were much more awe-inspiring."**_

_Jim felt his lips twitch into a slow grin. "Come on, you've never even seen it."_

" _ **Perhaps I will visit, afterwards."**_

_Now it was Jim's turn to fall silent. Afterwards. He hadn't even considered the possibility of there being an 'afterwards'. It was one thing to hope, to fight, it was another to think about an 'after'._

" _Tell you what," he said at last. "After this….how about I take you there? We'll make it a road trip, just the two of us."_

...

"Are you ready?"

Spock raised his eyes warily to appraise the human before him. Jim was grinning widely, practically bouncing with excitement. He had two duffle bags slung casually over his right shoulder, a helmet tucked under his left arm. There was something strange about seeing the captain in civilian clothing, Spock decided. He looked altogether too relaxed in them; the way the thin shirt and jacket clung to his frame was almost indecent. A pair of amber driving goggles hung about his neck, and it was a lurching reminder of the upcoming ordeal.

"I am uncertain," Spock answered at length, taking one of the bags Jim now proffered to him. The clothes that Jim had provided for him, deeming his customary wear utterly inappropriate for road travel….jeans, he recalled absently, scraped awkwardly against his skin as he moved. It was not an altogether unpleasant feeling, merely unfamiliar, yet it served as another reminder of the strangeness of this situation.

"Aw, come on. This is going to be great," Jim said brightly. He moved past Spock briskly to the motorcycle parked on the side of the road. With a small, indulgent sigh, Spock followed. It had not been long after Jim had been dispatched from the hospital, a scarce three days, in fact, before he had abruptly brought up the subject of the trip. Honestly, Spock had completely put it out of his mind, thinking that it was an unlikely venture. He should have suspected that Jim would defy his expectations yet again.

Of course, he had made the appropriate arguments against the outing. Jim was still recovering. Dr. McCoy would be furious beyond the capabilities of human speech. There was an immense amount of paperwork left to compile, not to mention the delicate situation surrounding his apparent "death" to maintain. Jim had waved away all of Spock's perfectly legitimate protests with his usual flippancy, declaring that he had thoroughly earned himself a week of vacation "that hellhole of a mission," and since he _had_ promised Spock a road trip...

"Your enthusiasm is somewhat concerning," Spock commented dryly, eyeing the vehicle before him skeptically. Where Jim had gotten it, and so quickly, he did not know, and neither did he think he wanted to.

Jim chuckled, strapping his duffel to the side of the bike before swinging a leg over and straddling the seat. He balanced on the balls of his feet as he tossed the motorcycle helmet at Spock. Spock caught it neatly, balancing the helmet in his hand doubtfully. "You have only the one," he said accusingly.

Jim shrugged casually. "I'm fine without one."

"That is unacceptable," Spock told him sternly. "This is a severe violation of safety regulations, and-"

"Look, I've done this for half my life, Spock. This is, what, your first time ever? Trust me, you'll need it more than I will. Now come on." Jim bounced impatiently in the seat. "Let's go."

Spock considered protesting again, then resigned himself to the fact that it would only serve to solidify Jim's determination. The helmet was an unfortunate shade of bright pink, a garish monstrosity Spock heavily suspected Jim would not normally possess. He did not know whether to be amused or irritated by this obvious act of provocation and settled on a slightly miffed indifference.

With the air of undertaking a grave task, he put the helmet on over his head, his ears suffering slight discomfort at the unaccommodating confines, and studiously ignored Jim's suspiciously twitching grin. Primly, Spock then set himself to the task of securing his own luggage on the side of the motorcycle, then paused uncertainly at the vehicle's side. Jim patted the seat behind him with an irking grin. "Hop on."

Spock exhaled resignedly and tentatively seated himself behind Jim. The motorcycle dipped and swayed with his weight, the leather creaking beneath him as he settled himself awkwardly. An alarming tilt to the right had him tightening his knees about the sides of the wide seat, reaching out with his hands to-

He did not know what to do with his hands.

As if Jim had sensed this problem, he reached back around without looking and grasped Spock's wrist, pulling it around himself so that it rested flat on his stomach. Spock tensed at the sudden closeness this position brought them to, instinctively trying to pull back as soon as Jim released him.

"You've got to hold on," Jim told him, turning his head to eye Spock reproachfully over his shoulder. "Don't want you falling off or anything."

Spock felt a muscle tic involuntarily at the side of his jaw. "This is not nec-"

"Those are the rules, Spock," Jim's voice lifted in an annoying lilt. "Gotta follow the rules."

Spock took a breath. Then another. Feeling sufficiently stabilized now, he brought his other hand around and placed it tentatively on Jim's side, fingertips resting nervously against his black leather jacket. Tutting, Jim took him by the wrist once more and pulled him forward firmly until Spock's arms were practically wrapped around his waist, his chest bumping against Jim's back.

"Don't argue," Jim said softly, and at this proximity, Spock could feel the rumble of his voice against his chest. Then Jim pulled up his goggles, leaned forward to start the engine, and they were off with a coughing splutter and the smell of exhaust and screeching rubber.

The experience was neither better nor worse than Spock's half-formed expectations. It was loud, it was jolting, the wind harsh and cutting if he did not hide his face behind Jim. Pebbles bounced against the metal of the motorcycle, occasionally pinging off his legs and leaving slight stinging sensations behind.

But it was not all bad, he had to grudgingly admit. There was a certain exhilaration at traveling in open air at such high speeds that somewhat justified Jim's liking for this traditional mode of ground travel. Something primal and fascinating about the howl of the wind and the smell of dust and sunlight. If he was to close his eyes and spread his arms- not an advisable action, by all means- he thought that it would not be unlike flying. Or falling, he supposed, depending on the perspective one took. But his arms remained locked around Jim's waist, and that too was not altogether unpleasant.

The first sharp turn Jim made caught Spock off guard, lost as he was in his contemplations. He automatically pressed closer to Jim, his fingers digging slightly into his abdomen, and thought he felt Jim shudder beneath his palms. Self-consciously, he attempted to loosen his grip, despite every self-preservative instinct telling him not to, and Jim yelled something intelligible into the rushing wind.

Spock was forced to lean over Jim's shoulder to hear. "What was that?" he inquired, raising his own voice. He was not used to having to shout, and the wind rushed down his throat in an odd tickling sensation.

"Hold on tighter back there!" Jim bellowed. If he but turned his head, Spock noticed abruptly, he would be…..they were much closer than he had initially realized. He pulled his head back behind Jim swiftly, obediently tightening his grip.

It was not long after that that he began to become exceeding aware of the intimacy of their positions. Jim's body slouched slightly forward over the motorcycle as he drove, the angle forcing Spock to lean against him in order to maintain his grip around his waist. If he was to relax the slightest degree, he would find his chest completely melded to Jim's back. He therefore stiffened his spine and resolved grimly to hold the position. This proved to be an overestimation of his own physical limits, and as the long minutes passed, he found himself leaning more and more against Jim in a completely unacceptable manner.

He was burningly conscious that his knees were pressing against the sides of Jim's thighs. It was an unavoidable position, but that only seemed to make the matter worse. He was not supposed to be trying to justify this situation. Or enjoying it. Most definitely not the latter.

He found that he disliked the feeling of the wind in his face and made an effort to shield himself behind Jim's head as best as he could. This brought his face discomfortingly close to the back of Jim's neck, the tip of his nose occasionally bumping forward and brushing across the strip of exposed skin over his collar. Jim smelled like sweat and soap and sunlight, and he did not know what to think of the odd, yet not completely displeasing combination.

"You know, we don't have to go straight there and back," Jim remarked, when they paused for a midday respite. Instead of stopping at the nearest town as Spock had anticipated, Jim had simply chugged his way to the side of the road and flung himself down on a patch of grass with a contented groan and stretch. Now he was sitting up, eating a rather crushed sandwich from his bag and licking the last crumbs from his fingers musingly.

Spock sat beside him, running his hand through the short blades of dry grass absently. "What do you propose as an alternative route?" he inquired, when it became evident that Jim was waiting for a response of some kind.

"Well. We've got a week, you know. I figure….we could slow down a bit tomorrow once we hit Nevada, see the country a bit." Jim waved his finger in a vague motion, indicating some sort of circuitous route. "No point in missing out, right?"

Spock honestly had no strong opinion towards the matter, but felt obliged to murmur in agreement. He did not often have the opportunity to see Jim in such a lighthearted mood, after all, and he had no particular dislike towards the thought of viewing more of Earth's natural landscapes. There was little of it left, after all, and where better to begin his observations than an environment that resembled his home planet?

"All right then, we've got a plan." Jim grinned and leaned sideways, jostling Spock in a casual manner that he assumed to be a friendly gesture. There was a brief moment of struggle in his mind as he attempted to decide whether it would be appropriate to reciprocate the action, but Jim stood before he could reach a conclusion, brushing off the seat of his pants in a manner altogether too distracting for Spock's liking. Or perhaps he liked it too much.

They stopped for the night at the outskirts of a small, quiet town on the border of Nevada, just seven hours short of their destination. "You know, Vegas isn't that far off," Jim remarked, with a casualness too deliberate for innocence. Spock only looked at him patiently, and Jim had sighed ruefully. "Another time, then." There was the suggestion of a promise in his words, and Spock was mystified at the pleasant buzzing sensation it caused in his mind.

The motel Jim selected was likewise small, but respectable enough. The woman behind the counter gave the two of them an odd look when Jim requested a single room, giving Spock a particularly curious look, but professionally said nothing. Jim seemed to find the situation amusing, breaking into quiet chuckles as soon as the elevator doors closed.

"Did you see her face?" Jim chortled, his grin creasing the dust smeared across his skin. "She totally thought we-" His eyes darted to Spock, and he fell abruptly silent.

Spock waited politely, but Jim did not continue and so he did not inquire further into the matter. Let Jim have his mysteries; he certainly had his own.

The room was not much smaller than his own quarters aboard the Enterprise, furnished with a desk, an old holovision set, and two single beds that were, in Spock's opinion, far too close to each other.

Jim declared the room to be satisfactory, and proceeded to claim the bed closest to the bathroom by throwing his duffel upon it, flinging himself facedown next to the bag promptly afterwards. "Ughhhhhhh," he groaned obnoxiously into the covers, toeing off his shoes wearily and letting them clunk dully onto the worn carpet.

"You are still dirty," Spock reminded him, carefully setting his own bag at the foot of the other bed.

Jim turned his head slightly to peer at him with one eye, an undignified snort escaping as he took Spock in. "You can take that off now, you know."

Spock started, his hands lifting to touch the helmet. He had not realized that he was still wearing it. It was no wonder, he deplored, that the receptionist had eyed him so. He pulled the thing off with distaste and placed it down with more force than necessary beside his duffel.

There was another noise of humor from the bed, and he turned with a disapproving frown.

"Helmet hair," Jim wheezed. "God, and I thought it was bad before." He extended an arm towards Spock lazily. "Come here."

Spock hesitated. There was something about the glint in the one blue eye he could see that spoke of mischief.

Jim gestured again, more impatiently, "Come on."

Spock gave up and went obediently to Jim's bedside. Once there, Jim gripped the edge of his jacket, tugging insistently until Spock was forced to kneel out of sheer exasperation. Jim's face was now inches from his own. He could make out every individual eyelash, every grain of dirt caught against the pale outline of where his goggles had sat. Every light freckle against wind-burned skin.

Jim reached out absently, combing through Spock's hair with surprising meticulousness, smoothing down the unruly tufts. Spock, not knowing what else to do, closed his eyes and endured the unexpected grooming. He could feel the warmth of Jim's fingers against his scalp, felt the tickling pressure of his light touch. Once, Spock dared to open his eyes and saw that Jim had turned his face fully towards him, both eyes fixed intently on his task. His gaze dropped down to meet Spock's, and there was something in his expression that Spock could not bear to see...or perhaps he wanted to see it too much.

He did not open his eyes again after that.

At long last, Jim's administrations ceased, and Spock peered at him suspiciously. The human had fallen asleep, his back rising and falling gently with every quiet snore. His mouth had fallen slightly open; there was a smudge of dirt at the corner of his parted lips that Spock found himself staring at.

He stood abruptly, raising a hand unconsciously to his head and sliding his own fingers through his hair. He could feel Jim's phantom warmth still, and paused to examine the stirring his chest at the sensation. He regarded the sleeping man sprawled before him, limbs awry and still clad in his dirty travel clothes.

His options were unfortunately limited at this time.

Spock hesitated for a long, reluctant moment. He then proceeded to shower quietly, encountering only a slight moment of confusion with the controls, and, realizing with annoyance that he had yet to unpack clean clothing, padded over to the bed and looked inside the duffel Jim had insisted on packing for him. He had not protested at the offer, having no necessities with him at the time, but now a certain sense of trepidation was filling him as he unzipped the bag and examined its contents thoroughly for the first time.

The first garment he pulled out was apparently one of Jim's old shirts, judging by the worn state of the fabric. He rubbed the dark material between his fingers in contemplation, then pulled it over his head. The cotton was soft against his face, and it smelled irrationally of Jim.

He did not recognize the peeling logo on the front of the shirt, but it was an irrelevant matter. Digging deeper into the bag, he found himself staring at a pair of undergarments that looked suspiciously familiar. In fact, it was the pair he had found beneath the pillow of Jim's bed that one night. He cast an amused glance at Jim's prone form, and gingerly put on the briefs. Upon discovering that there was not a serviceable pair of trousers within the bag, he resigned himself to be the victim of Jim's unwitting negligence yet again and gave up the task.

Spock went to sleep that night with a prickling awareness of Jim's sleeping form practically an arm's reach away. If he so desired, he could stretch out an arm and touch his face, run his fingertips along that shadowed jaw…..

He rolled away firmly and closed his eyes. Morning seemed altogether too far away.


	2. Day Two

Jim woke the next morning feeling terrible. His face _cracked_ when he grimaced- had he gone to bed without a shower? With a wheezing groan of discomfort, he peeled himself off the mattress, squinting blearily at the dusty outline he had made on the bedspread. It looked like he had. He stretched stiffly with an exaggerated yawn, twisting to the side and-

He froze, mouth open mid-yawn, and gaped at the lump stretched out in the other bed beside him. It was Spock.

Spock was _sleeping_.

Jim stared at the incredible sight a few seconds longer, then scrambled off his bed and walked around to get a better look. Spock slept like a caterpillar, he noted with hilarity, all rolled up in his covers like a threadbare burrito with only a tuft of black hair and half his face sticking out the top. Jim bent over, his hands on his knees, and leaned in closer-

Spock's eyes snapped open.

They stared at each other for a frozen moment. Jim was suddenly aware of how stupid he must look, crouched over and leering creepily at Spock's sleeping face.

"Jim," Spock said finally, very carefully. "What are you doing?"

The sound of his voice snapped Jim out of whatever weird paralysis he had been under. He bolted up straight, running a hand through his dusty hair unconsciously and looking down at the floor, over his shoulder, anywhere but at Spock and his ridiculous burrito position. "I'm….I'm going to shower," he said decisively. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll go do that. We'll, um, we'll go get breakfast after I'm done, okay?"

Spock blinked at him owlishly over the top of the blanket, and sat up abruptly, the burrito folding ridiculously in the process. Jim felt himself grinning stupidly, and couldn't bring himself to try to hide it.

It was only after he finished his shower and reached for the curtain that he realized he had forgotten to unpack clean clothes from his bag. _Idiot_.

He grabbed a white towel and shook it out dubiously, eyeing the short length with suspicion, and wrapped it around his waist. It covered the important bits, at least, but left him feeling awkwardly exposed everywhere else.

He took a deep breath and stepped out boldly from the bathroom in a cloud of steam before he could chicken out. _It's just Spock. He's a dude. He's seen it all before anyway._ The thought wasn't as comforting as he'd hoped it'd be.

Two things he noticed immediately, both of which stopped him full in his tracks in the doorway. He stood gaping, water puddling at his feet.

Spock was standing by his bed, hair tousled and spiking oddly in places, morning stubble shadowing his jaw in an utterly distracting manner, and he was wearing Jim's clothes.

Of course he was wearing Jim's clothes. Jim had _packed_ them for him. But somehow he hadn't registered that Spock would actually be wearing them until he saw him, and _man_ , was it a sight to see.

They were roughly the same size, Spock maybe a little leaner than Jim across the chest, but the shirt hung a little looser on him than it did on Jim. It was a T-shirt, the first short-sleeved shirt Jim had ever seen Spock in, and the sight of Spock's bare arms did something to Jim that another man's arms should not.

The shirt became a secondary concern when his eyes flicked down to the next item of notice. Spock wasn't wearing any pants. He had a pair of Jim's briefs on- and that was something else Jim hadn't really considered before- and nothing else. His skin was startlingly pale in contrast to the black fabric of the briefs, and Jim's wide eyes lingered too long at the barest trace of a faint green vein along the side of his thigh-

Spock turned and looked at him critically, eyes traversing up and down Jim's body in a clinically interested manner that made Jim suddenly very grateful for the scanty inches of towel he clutched to his waist. He became embarrassingly aware of the drops of water slowly rolling down his shoulders and chest, dripping from his wet hair into his eyes….

Jim blinked rapidly and made his way briskly to his duffel. "Forgot my clothes," he said, as an awkward explanation. Opening his bag with one hand proved to be a difficult task, and with a muttered prayer under his breath, he let go of the towel to unzip the duffel. To his horror, he felt the fabric slipping down over his hips- he made a desperate grab for it, but it was already too late.

There was an awkward moment of silence in which Jim could feel Spock staring nonplussed at his now naked backside. Jim closed his eyes, mortified, and consoled himself with the fact that he could still drown himself in the shower.

He calmly gathered his clothes and, after some fancy maneuvering to avoid flashing Spock any more than he already had, picked up the towel and wrapped it tightly around himself once more.

"You didn't see that," Jim said in a low voice, not daring to turn.

"No," Spock agreed instantly.

There was a very awkward moment following that, during which Jim wildly contemplated the statistical likelihood of diving through a black hole and reversing this very moment through a time warp. Not likely, he concluded with some measure of despair.

Jim cleared his throat. "All right, then." He tried not to notice the burn of Spock's gaze directed at his back as he walked back into the bathroom. He tried to not imagine that gaze drifting south from his shoulder blades, maybe following a stray drop of water down his spine. He tried to not thinking about inviting Spock to shower with him on some reckless, suicidal whim.

He tried to not think in general, and failed spectacularly.

…

Spock had never seen the captain unclothed before.

This is was not an unexpected matter; he doubted that anyone other than perhaps Dr. McCoy had ever looked on Jim unclothed.

That did not change the fact that he had just seen Jim without his clothing.

In a distracted sort of way, Spock had automatically taken in the disheveled, dripping state of the man as he exited the bathroom, noting with a twinge of annoyance that the carpet was growing damp where Jim stood.

And then he really looked, and saw the drops of moisture clinging to flushed, taut muscle, rolling down a broad chest and a firm abdomen, caught in the beginnings of a trail of hair peeking over the top of the blindingly white towel. Or perhaps it had been the sight of Jim that had been blinding.

In any case, Spock was not altogether certain where to look when Jim finally exited the bathroom, his hair still damn and clinging to his neck and an odd flush on his face that Spock did not think was completely due to the steam drifting lazily through the open doorway.

Jim nodded jerkily at Spock, tugging his shirt down over his waistband almost in emphasis, and went to fold his dirty clothes into his bag. Spock waited quietly, his own already packed bag sitting neatly on the foot of his bed. He had donned another pair of these jeans in the meantime, the navy blue jacket Jim had provided for him already donned.

"You ready for breakfast?"

Spock looked up to see Jim watching him expectantly.

"I do not require sustenance at this time," Spock answered carefully. It was true, it was a fact, and he clung to the geometric rationalities of it. He had been feeling much too undefined as of late, lost in unformed musings and half-coherent ramblings. Some stability was not unwelcome at the moment.

Jim shrugged casually. "All right. We'll head out, then."

Spock stood automatically and picked up his bag, then hesitated. "Is it not customary for you to partake in a meal at this time?"

"Nah. I've never been the whole eggs and bacon guy. My mom wasn't much of a cook, either, when I was a kid." Jim turned his back briefly to gather his belongings, and Spock allowed himself to examine his silhouette intently. Even after all this time, Jim remained a mystery to him. As soon as Spock believed he had grasped some aspect of him, another unknown variable appeared, and he would inevitably conclude that he did not understand Jim at all.

When they exited the motel, the first signs of daylight were peeking over the pinking horizon, the air chilled just enough to be comfortable. Spock knew that would change soon enough, and found himself looking forward to the warm rays of sunlight against his face. Earth mornings were altogether too cool for his liking, even in these southern regions.

He stolidly refused to wear the helmet this time, his ears and dignity still smarting from the experience the day before. To his surprise, Jim merely shrugged good-naturedly and stowed the abomination cheerfully in the compartment beneath the seat.

Spock regretted his decision for all of eleven seconds as the wind buffeted at his now unprotected head, his ears throbbing with the engine beneath him. He held onto Jim tightly without further urging, and attempted to resist burying his face against the back of Jim's leather jacket. When he eventually dared to crack his eyes open and straighten, he found that there was a certain degree of adrenaline that accompanied traveling at such high speeds without the smothering reassurance of safety gear. It made his heart pound in his side and his fingers tighten involuntarily against Jim's stomach. Again, as it had yesterday, he sensed Jim's muscles quiver beneath his hands, and wondered distantly if Jim was as conscious as his touch as he was of the man himself.

It was Jim's idea to stop by the shop, two hours later on the road. Spock would have been content to press on, but Jim had already spotted the dubious establishment perched obstinately by the road and insisted on stopping to take a look.

"It is a simple ploy for your money, Jim-"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I strongly advise you to not purchase anything."

Jim snorted. "Spock, I'm a grown man. I think I know how to spend my own money. And besides, we said we'd take it slow today, didn't we?"

And with that, Jim ushered Spock into the gift shop.

It was small and cramped, with a manner of slight dilapidation about its low shelves and dusty lighting. A faint strain of music filled the warm air, a low, murmuring song Spock did not think he was familiar with.

"Welcome to Nevada," droned the young woman perched behind the counter. She glanced up briefly from her tablet, then straightened at the sight at of the two men. " _What_ can I do for _you_?" she added, her tone significantly brighter, Spock noticed. Her wide eyes flicked from Jim to himself, and back to Jim in a way that somehow made Spock uneasy.

"Just looking around," Jim answered cheerfully, utterly oblivious to her interest as he gawked openly at the shelves. "This place is _great_ ," he said sincerely, his head swiveling from side to side as he attempted to take in the entire shop. "It's got that old-generation touch, you know?"

"Uh huh," the girl agreed distractedly.

Jim moved forward eagerly to peruse the shelves, leaving Spock to his own devices. He hesitated uncertainly in the doorway, reluctant to join Jim in his activities, yet feeling himself towed along by the man's enthusiasm.

In the end, he surrendered to rising curiosity and resignedly selected his own aisle to examine.

It was approximately eight minutes later that he heard Jim's voice. "Oh man!"

At the sound of the reverent exclamation, Spock looked up from the shelf of trinkets proclaiming in various methods the phrase "Welcome to Nevada!" Jim stood in the next aisle, his head bent over something Spock could not see from this angle as he continued to croon over whatever he cradled so very carefully in his hands. His curiosity piqued, Spock circled around the row of shelves to join Jim.

The man was holding a small figurine of a dark-skinned woman clad in a grass skirt and a flower in her hair, her painted smile flashing as her hips bobbled alarmingly.

"Oh _man_ ," Jim repeated, an incredulous grin splitting his face. "This is awesome!"

Spock squinted at the figurine critically. "There is nothing about this that inspires awe."

"Are you kidding me? This is a classic!" Jim set the item on a shelf and flicked it affectionately, watching the little plastic woman sway to and fro with a childish delight. "We had one of these in our car when I was a kid."

Spock looked at the trinket with increased interest as the familiar beeping of a communicator sounded. For a moment, Jim looked puzzled, then he was muttering a curse and patting at his clothing distractedly. "It's Bones," he said resignedly, when he finally located the device. "Hold on, I've got to take this." He hesitated, hefting the figurine indecisively and glancing longingly at the counter. "Do you mind….?"

"If you are suggesting that I purchase the...item for you, I have no currency with me to do so."

"All right, here, hold on." Jim shoved the figurine in Spock's unwilling hands and shoved his hands in his pockets, fishing about with a look of intense concentration on his face. He withdrew a handful of crumpled bills seconds later and presented them to Spock triumphantly. "There you go. I'll be right outside."

He left Spock standing there with the figurine in one hand and the money in the other, and bustled out the door with McCoy's voice already blazing from the communicator.

The young woman at the counter gave Spock a conspiratorial glance as he paid for the trinket. "This is for your friend, right?"

He looked at her politely. "Pardon?"

"Your friend. With the nice eyes." She tilted her head towards the window display, through which Spock could see Jim as he talked on his communicator. As Spock watched, he tossed his head back and laughed, the faint sound of his voice carrying through the glass. Distracted by the brief flash of Jim's throat, Spock nearly missed the woman's next question.

"You want that wrapped, sir?"

Spock blinked at her, politely puzzled.

She explained kindly, "It's part of the gift service. We have a special couples discount, you know." She looked at him expectantly, and Spock, with a small stir of panic, wished fervently that Jim would come back into the shop and clear up the matter. Clearly there was some sort of exchange under negotiation here that he was not completely comprehending.

His silence merely seemed to buoy the young woman. She winked at him cheerfully before bundling the figurine in an excessively colored bag accompanied with extravagant amounts of pink tissue. "Here you go, sir. He'll _love_ it."

Spock accepted both the bag and a handful of change without a word, and stepped out quickly through the jingling door before the woman could attempt to initiate further conversation.

Jim was sliding his communicator back in his pocket as Spock approached. He turned at the sound of the closing door, a grin leaping to his face at the sight of the florid bag. "Nice. They do everything like that or did you ask for it special?"

Spock handed over the bag, feeling no less confounded by the whole encounter than he had moments before. "The woman insisted on….wrapping it."

Jim guffawed, rummaging through the volumes of tissue paper and extracting his prize triumphantly. "This will go great on the bridge, don't you think?" He gave the figurine an enthusiastic shake and watched it wobble in fascination. "I'd like to see this thing go at warp speed."

"As long as it is not at my station," Spock said stonily, and Jim gave a short, surprised laugh. Spock enjoyed the sound of Jim's laughter far more than he had any right to, he thought. He did not believe he had ever laughed out loud, himself. It was not something he had ever contemplated before, nor ever concerned himself with, but one could not simply listen to a laugh like Jim's without considering the matter seriously.

Jim insisted on securing the figurine to the front of his motorcycle and, after a few minutes of struggle, managed to fasten it precariously between the handlebars like some figurehead from the age of sea-bound ships.

"You mentioned before that you possessed a similar item in your childhood," Spock said twenty miles later, as they leaned against the parked motorcycle and ate. Jim had waved away Spock's protests and purchased him a box of salad at a gas stop. He picked through the wilted leaves now distastefully, making an effort to consume it under Jim's watchful eye.

There was a short pause before Jim grunted in affirmation, chewing the last mouthful of his sandwich thoughtfully before responding. "I never found out where we got it from. It was one of those things that had always been there, you know? Something you saw every day, but never wondered where it came from." He looked away from Spock to consider the little figurine, and Spock deemed it safe to watch him in turn. The sunlight caught the edges of Jim's hair and lit the tousled strands in burnished gold, lining the curve of his jaw and neck as he rolled his shoulders absently.

Spock snapped his eyes abruptly back to the remnants of his meal when Jim looked towards him expectantly, searching for something to say in response. "There….was a necklace that my mother possessed. A small trinket of no great value, and yet I never saw her without it." He paused to close the box in his hands and set it carefully on the seat of the motorcycle behind him, his appetite utterly diminished now. He could see that necklace now clearly as he spoke, a small glittering locket on a thin golden chain.

"I had always assumed it was a gift from my father, though it was not like him to do such things. It never occurred to me to inquire of its origins." He could feel Jim's eyes on him, and resolutely refrained from turning and meeting his gaze. "It does not matter now, in any case." The necklace had disappeared along with his mother, and with it every mystery and unasked questions.

There was a light touch at the back of his hand, and he moved reflexively towards it, clutching at Jim's hand before it could retreat. Jim's fingers moved between his, bringing their palms flush together, and squeezed reassuringly. Their shoulders bumped, a gentle reminder of Jim's presence, and after a couple more casual brushes, his arm lingered against Spock's and neither of them pulled away.

Spock closed his eyes, reveling in the camaraderie in the moment, the silent gesture that Jim could not possibly know its effects on him. Jim was of a tactile being, perhaps this was common behavior for him, but for Spock…..it was a very different matter altogether. He could feel the rough calluses on Jim's fingertips against his knuckles, the absent swipe of his thumb across tingling flesh, the heat of his skin.

"You loved her," came Jim's quiet voice. It was not a question. Spock opened his eyes, surprised enough to look at him. Jim met his gaze, the sunlight striking his eyes in such a way that Spock's world was temporarily filled with blazing blue.

"You loved her," Jim repeated emphatically. "I'm….back then, I know when I said...what I had to say, you gotta know that I didn't. I didn't mean it." He stumbled slightly over his words, an embarrassed flush rising in his cheeks. Spock could stare, utterly fascinated.

"I'm sorry," Jim finally managed. "About your mom. About what I said...what I said about her."

"It is not your fa-"

"It _is_." Jim tightened his grip on Spock's hand, as if desperate to convey his intent physically. "I shouldn't have said that."

Spock was quiet. He was fully aware of the circumstances revolving Jim's provocation, and understood the necessity of such a task. He had thought the same of Jim, though apparently the other man had quite different thoughts about the matter. Unsure of how to best explain himself, Spock contented himself with nodding tersely and reciprocating the grip Jim still had on his hand.

They came to a certain understanding that day, he later realized. If asked to explain it, he was not certain that he could, and yet the solidity of it was strong in his mind. It was almost tangible, this oath between them. The promise they had made to each other in a white hospital room. The promise to stay.

Every touch was an affirmation, every look a burning reminder. They were bound together, the two of them, by their pasts and their losses and the futures to come. Even now, as the heat of Jim's skin warmed Spock's hand, he could not tell where the grasp of one ended and the other began.

And perhaps, that was the whole point of it all.


	3. Day Three

The third morning found them once again on the road. Spock had had a sleepless night, the warmth of Jim's hand still burning upon his palm. By the time he had managed to come to his senses, the sun was already rising and Jim was sitting up with a prolonged yawn, his hair tousled from sleep and his jaw shadowed with stubble in a way that should not have been as endearing as it was.

They had set out at dawn with the intent of crossing the mountains by noon, and Spock was now sincerely regretting his decision to let Jim plot their course. He clung doggedly to Jim's waist as the motorcycle puttered up the side of a mountain, wondering maliciously if Jim had intentionally chosen the least accessible road by which to traverse the landform.

Jim was shouting something again.

Spock leaned forward over Jim's shoulder. "What was that?"

"I said, let's go swimming!" Jim hollered, turning his head simultaneously and bashing the side of Spock's face with his goggles. "Ah, hell, I'm sorry-"

"I am unharmed," Spock assured him, blinking rapidly from the blow, and retreated to a safer location. Only then did he realize what Jim had said and cautiously moved forward again. "Swimming?"

"Yeah!"

"Jim," Spock said, a stir of panic rising within his chest. "I can not-"

Jim's whoop of excitement drowned his protests as the motorcycle hurtled down the rocky mountain road. Spock clutched at Jim's waist helplessly as the vehicle jolted wildly, reluctant to speak lest he bite off his own tongue.

The path Jim appeared to be taking winded through a thick forested area, often times barely a road at all. The front wheel of the motorcycle bounced off a root, sending them briefly airborne, and Spock was mentally calculating the trajectory and impact force of their landing automatically before the motorcycle hit ground again and carried on.

Jim braked with a shower of stinging gravel, the motorcycle skidding to a halt halfway down the rocky beach. " _Heck_ yes," he said excitedly, taking in the sight before them with satisfaction.

Spock dismounted stiffly from the motorcycle, his nether regions unpleasantly numbed by the rough journey. The lake before them would be quite a spectacle, he had to reluctantly admit, if it was not also completely predictable. It was wide and flat and glittering as all lakes ought to be, and _wet_.

He did not know how to swim.

He opened his mouth again in an attempt to inform Jim of this crucial fact once more, then blinked as Jim's jacket slapped him in the face. Disgruntled, he pulled the garment off his head in time to see Jim's shirt flying in his general direction. He reached forward and caught it before it could hit the ground, and looked up with increasing impatience to see Jim making for the wooden pier jutting over the waters with wild abandon, tripping over the legs of his pants as he attempted to run and disrobe simultaneously.

Spock should not have been surprised that Jim was not wearing any undergarments, and yet the brief glimpse he received as the jeans went flying startled him beyond comprehension.

"Jim-"

A loud splash drowned out his words as Jim hurled himself bodily from the pier and into the lake, his triumphant cry changing abruptly to a yell of shock as he flailed to the surface. "It's _cold_ ," he yelped, yet made no efforts to leave the water. Instead, he kicked out farther into the lake, grinning at Spock through chattering teeth. "Come on in."

Spock stood frozen by the motorcycle, clutching Jim's clothing to his chest helplessly. "I would prefer not to."

"What's that?" Jim called, evidently unable to hear him over the sounds of his own splashing. Spock placed the bundle of clothing carefully on the seat of the motorcycle and took a few tentative steps down the pier. "I can not swim, Jim."

Jim reached up and grabbed the end of the pier, hoisting his upper body up from the water and looking at him consideringly. Shimmering droplets clung to his skin, dripping from well-defined muscles that Spock was most definitely not distracted by. "Well, I'll teach you."

Spock eyed the water with increasing alarm. "I assure you, that will not be necessary. My species is simply not compatible with-"

"First time for everything," Jim said cheerfully, and promptly splashed him with a magnificent arc of water.

Spock blinked in shock, too rigid to flinch as the cold water dripped from his face. "You," he began, and stopped. Jim was laughing, the color high in his cheeks from the exertion and the coolness of the water. The sunlight glimmered off the lake and reflected in his eyes, and Spock promptly forgot the reprimand ready at his lips.

"See, now you're wet, so you might as well get in."

"Your reasoning is flawed," Spock informed him, dabbing at his face fruitlessly with his damp shirt.

"Aw, come on, it's really not that bad," Jim tried to persuade him. "Not that cold at all, once you get moving a bit." He stretched out his arm towards Spock, wiggling his fingers enticingly. "Come on, Spock. Just a little bit."

"I will not."

"Spooooock."

"You are being childish."

"I'm always childish," Jim retaliated swiftly, and smiled suddenly with disarming sweetness. "Please?"

Spock glanced at the water dubiously. It looked very cold and very wet. He reluctantly hooked his fingers in the hem of his shirt. Perhaps it would not be as bad as he suspected, if he immersed himself very carefully and very slowly.

"That's it," Jim said encouragingly, as Spock finished undressing and carefully folded his clothes. The air was warm and dry, a slight breeze skimming through his hair, and the sun felt invigorating against his bare skin. He moved warily to the edge of the pier, wondering if Jim would be satisfied if he limited himself to putting his feet in.

A wet hand suddenly wrapped around his ankle, and Spock found himself toppling towards the water at an alarming speed. He had the sense to suck in a startled breath before he plunged into the lake, flailing ungracefully as he hit the water.

A moment of panic clenched around his chest when he felt the water close over his head, threatening to surge up his nose and into his lungs. He struck out instinctively with his limbs and felt a grip on his forearm, tugging him back to the surface.

Spock coughed wetly as soon as his head broke free, barely registering the stream of curses gurgling behind him.

"You really can't swim?" Jim demanded incredulously, as soon as he ran out of expletives, splashing clumsily with his free arm. An irrationally obtuse statement, Spock could not help but think vindictively, as he spluttered and endeavored to expel the last vestiges of water from his lungs, considering that he had _said_ so to begin with.

"I believe that I have already informed you of this," he said stiffly, once he was able to speak without coughing. He was slowly becoming aware of Jim's arm locked around his chest, the closeness of his lips from his ear. Reflexively, he tried to shift into a less compromising position, only to sag in resignation when Jim tightened his grip automatically.

"Stay...still," Jim grunted. "You'll drown us both, idiot."

Spock bit back an acerbic remark and allowed Jim to tow them back to the pier, reaching up with dripping hands to grip the wooden planks and steady himself. Even then, Jim did not let go, his chest pressed against Spock's back.

"Sorry about that," he said awkwardly, reaching up with his free arm to hold onto the pier next to Spock's hand. The Vulcan was very quiet, probably restraining the urge to strangle him. He felt terrible, honestly, pulling Spock in like that, but still….

He couldn't suppress the chuckle that shook through him, bouncing his chin against Spock's shoulder as he lowered his head in an attempt to stifle it.

"How could this possibly amuse you?" Spock demanded, turning his head just enough to eye Jim suspiciously. Jim felt his laugh hitch in his throat, suddenly aware of how close they were. Damn, though, Spock looked good like this, as flustered and green as he was. His hair was slicked back, water dripping down pale skin. Jim hadn't even noticed the day-old stubble Spock was gathering, but it was _hot_ -

"The way you looked, man," he chortled, unwinding his arm from Spock's waist and floating out a little ways, grinning. "Flopping into the lake like that."

Spock didn't dignify him with a response, turning instead to haul himself out of the lake.

"Wait, you're not staying in?" Jim protested.

"As we have already established, Jim, I cannot swim. It is illogical of me to remain in the lake when I could be dry elsewhere," Spock pointed out snidely, and climbed back onto the pier. Jim watched, slightly disappointed, but _man_ the view was nice. Spock had a great ass, really, and the way it looked now, water dripping down his legs and damn, the rest of his body was pretty fantastic, too.

"You should not leave your skin unprotected," Spock was telling him now, standing on the pier with his hands on his hips and frowning down at him disapprovingly.

Jim flailed dismissively, splashing himself in the face and spluttering subtly as it went up his nose. "I'm fine."

Up went a dripping eyebrow. "Solar radiation is strong in this region of the country. It would be wise to take precautions."

"Wise is overrated." Jim turned in the water, giving the lake a considering squint. "You think I could lap this in an hour?"

"Negative, Jim. It is far more likely that you would succumb to exhaustion and drown."

Jim couldn't help but snort at that. "Spock, you're the light of my days, I ever tell you that?"

There was a silence, and Jim indulged himself in a quick paddle under the pier and back out on the other side, pushing wet hair back from his face as he resurfaced. Spock was watching him, he saw, as he blinked away the water dripping into his eyes. "What?"

"You did not, in fact, inform me of that fact." Spock sat down carefully, dipping his feet into the water with the air of someone performing a horrifying task, and frowned down at his immersed ankles in deep concentration.

"Well," Jim said finally, caught off guard by the unexpected statement. "You are."

In the end, Spock never did get back into the lake, but he didn't make a move to leave the pier, either, and Jim paddled around for a good hour or so before deeming himself too wrinkly and hungry to continue.

They continued on that afternoon for a few hours more, Spock clinging gingerly to Jim's damp back and blinking at the occasional droplet of water flicking back against his face.

There was, bizarrely, a fireplace burning in the lobby of the next motel they paused at, despite their geographical location, and Spock crowded close to the warm flames while Jim leaned over the counter and flirted shamelessly with the receptionist.

Eventually, they did make it up to the room, where the single bed in the center of the room stopped Spock dead in his tracks.

"What?" Jim demanded from behind him, a tinge of annoyance in his voice at the abrupt stop. He squeezed his way through and tossed his duffel on the bed without a second look. "You good with the right side? I'm used to the left."

"There is one bed," Spock stated.

Jim turned and looked at him curiously. "Yeah, they're out of doubles, so I told them a single was fine. Is that a problem? I don't snore, I promise."

Snoring was the least of Spock's concerns, and he told Jim as much.

Jim continued to look mystified. "Is this like a Vulcan thing? Personal space violation or something?"

It was something like that, and yet not at all, but Spock could not seem to find the words required to properly explain his dilemma. In the end, he contented himself with a small shake of the head. "It is nothing."

"Okay, then." Jim eyed him a moment longer, then shrugged. "I'm going to shower. That okay with you?"

Spock nodded his affirmation and gingerly set his bag on his side of the bed as Jim ducked into the bathroom. It was, he noticed with no small degree of alarm, not a very large bed. At most, they would be able to lie on their backs with only a small space between them. He would be able to feel Jim's warmth through the scant inches, hear every shift of fabric against skin, every breath, every sleepy murmur-

"Hey, you okay?" Jim's voice broke through his thoughts.

He looked up into Jim's concerned expression. "I am fine, Jim." It was not quite a lie, but nor was it wholly truth, and the fact that the ambiguity did not bother him to excess was troubling in itself.

Jim stared at him, an odd look in his eyes. "You sure?"

"Affirmative."

Jim hesitated, then shrugged again and retracted his head back into the bathroom. A moment later, Spock heard a loud curse from within, somewhat muffled by the rushing water. He shook himself out of his horrified contemplation of the bed and tilted his head inquisitively towards the closed door. "Jim?"

"Son of a- I've got the mother of all sunburns, damn it!" came the strangled groan.

"I did warn you."

"Shut up- ow, _shit_."

Several minutes later, a shirtless and irked Jim reemerged in a cloud of steam, his face and neck a shade of indignant pink verging on red and his back considerably even more so, Spock noted.

"Ow, ow, ow," Jim muttered, as he tentatively toweled at his back.

Spock eyed him severely. "Perhaps next time you will find it more prudent to apply-"

"Shut up, Spock," Jim groaned pathetically, hurtling the towel in the corner in a sullen fit. "Check the bathroom for some of that...what is it, aloe? The lotion should have it."

Spock went compliantly to inspect the contents of the bathroom, which did indeed possess lotion. "It contains ten point six percent," he read aloud from the label. "Is that satisfactory?"

"I'd take one percent at the moment," Jim griped, sitting down on the bed and gesturing impatiently. "Hand it over."

Spock hesitated, turning the small bottle over in his hands. "Perhaps I should assist."

Jim stared at him for a long moment, his expression unfathomable. "What?"

"It would increase the efficiency of the task by forty-six percent," Spock argued reflexively, unsure what he was even arguing for. "Unless you possess the ability to dislocate your shoulders at will, it is illogical to believe that you will be able to administer the treatment to the entirety of your back alone."

Jim blinked at him slowly, and Spock felt a cold prickle of anxiety in his chest before the man nodded slowly. "All right. How do you want to do this?"

Spock, taken aback by the easy compliance, took a moment to analyze the situation critically. "I believe it would be best if you were to recline here…" He directed Jim onto the bed, the human stretching out gingerly on his belly, curling his arms under the pillow. His legs were too long to properly fit on the mattress, his crossed ankles dangling a full two inches off the edge.

After taking a moment to regret extending the offer at all, Spock straddled Jim's waist awkwardly, his knees dimpling the mattress on either side of Jim's legs, and he hovered there uncertainly for a moment, not quite daring to settle his weight. Jim twisted his head to peer at Spock over his shoulder, the muscles of his reddened back flexing and rolling with the motion, and Spock found himself watching the play of shadows down the dip of Jim's spine with blatant fascination.

"What are you waiting for?" Jim demanded, wriggling his hips in an utterly distracting manner.

"My apologies," Spock murmured, snapping his eyes back to his own hands. He concentrated on squeezing out a sufficient quantity of ointment from the bottle onto his palms, the smell of aloe tingling in the air as he inhaled.

Jim made a small noise as Spock drizzled some of the cool lotion onto his back. Spock stopped immediately, uncertainty flooding his mind. "Was that unsatisfactory?"

"No," Jim breathed, his voice muffled against the pillow pressed against his face. "No, that was...that's just fine, Spock."

Slightly emboldened, Spock flattened his hands against Jim's shoulders, feeling the unnatural heat emanating from the skin beneath his palms. He worked the salve into Jim's flesh, striving to ignore the quickly stifled moan emitting from the pillow.

He attempted to ignore the small freckle on the right side of Jim's spine, two and a half inches beneath his shoulder blade. He looked pointedly away from the gentle swell of flesh just above Jim's waistband that barely hinted at what lay beneath. He recited the periodic table of elements silently to draw his attention away from the slow breaths Jim was taking, every hitch in his inhales evident whenever Spock reached a particularly sensitive spot.

Strive as he did, it was physically impossible to ignore the aesthetics of Jim's body. It was not perfect by any means, his skin marked with small scars and one longer one that curved around his ribs and under his shoulder. Spock subtly traced the end of it with his thumb, feeling a strange thrill of satisfaction when Jim made a choked, surprised sound, his back arching slightly under Spock's touch.

Halfway down Jim's back, Spock discovered a tight knot of tension and pressed down on it automatically, rolling down with his knuckles. To his shock, Jim let loose a full-throated groan, his back arching against the light pressure before melting deeper into the mattress. "Yeah...yeah, do that again," he gasped, the pace of his breathing significantly faster.

Spock swallowed with an audible click in his throat, his hands shaking slightly as he repeated the motion, rubbing away the tension with his palms afterwards as Jim vocalized his satisfaction.

There were three more knots along Jim's spine, one dangerously close to his hips, and Spock hesitated briefly before working it out, pushing his thumbs against the tight muscle and smoothing it out. Jim sighed and his hips shifted imperceptibly against the mattress, barely enough to constitute as a reaction, and yet-

Spock's mind swiftly derailed at that point. Jim's back gleamed with a thin layer of lotion, a small pool of it in the dip of his spine. Impulsively, Spock dragged his knuckles through the excess lotion and up the length of Jim's back, giving the base of his neck a firm squeeze and feeling the body beneath him shudder in...surprise? Pleasure? It would be so easy to find out, a simple lowering of his mental shields...

"Spock," Jim whispered, his voice strained. His hips pressed against the mattress again, very slightly, but the small movement snapped Spock back to clarity. He blinked down at his own hands, still resting possessively over Jim's shoulders, and drew back with a shaky inhale, sliding abruptly off the bed. "That should do, Captain."

"Y-Yeah. Thanks." Jim peeled himself off the mattress awkwardly, facing away from Spock as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Spock glanced away as he stood, focusing on a blank spot on the wall with deadly intent until he heard the click of the bathroom door

…

Jim sat down heavily on the edge of the bathtub and set his head in his hands, rubbing the heels of his palms fiercely into his eyes. What the hell. Had happened.

It was a back rub. A simple, practical, normal back rub between friends.

Did friends give each other back rubs? Hot back rubs? Not that it was hot- but, who was he kidding, it _had_ been hot.

He glared down balefully between his legs, cursing himself thoroughly. He wasn't going to ruin this trip with Spock by jumping him, he _wasn't_.

He'd be damned if he didn't look at lotion the same way again after that, though.

By the time he managed to talk himself out of leaving the bathroom, Spock had extinguished the lamps, sitting under the covers on the right side of the bed with his hands folded serenely in his lap. He looked up at the sound of Jim's approach, and for a moment, Jim had a wild vision of a bride in her wedding bed and resisted the urge to slap himself.

He managed to get in the other side of the bed without making a fool out of himself and wiggled down awkwardly under the sheets at the very edge of the mattress. "Don't hog the blankets," he said with a nervous laugh.

Spock looked indignant that he would even dare to suggest a thing, and settled himself down with a miffed expression. "I will not."

Jim stared up at the ceiling for a moment, then barked a startled laugh. "Haven't done this since the Academy when I roomed with Bones."

"You shared a housing residence with Dr. McCoy?"

Jim glanced at him and was oddly disappointed to see that Spock was facing away from him. He quickly found, though, that there were distinct advantages to this, since now he was free to ogle Spock as much as he wanted to without the danger of being spotted, and proceeded to do so wholeheartedly. "Yeah. Grouchiest three years of my life," he said absently, rolling on his side so he could better trace the slight curve of Spock's spine with his eyes.

"And on what occasion did you share your sleeping accommodations?" Spock definitely sounded weird that time, and Jim thought for a moment before a grin spread over his face.

"Heater broke in December. You know, those Academy dorms really had crappy heating systems." He eyed the scant six inches between him on the mattress and dared to shift a little closer to Spock. "He's a terrible sleeper, really. Kicked me out of bed six times in one night."

Spock said nothing, and Jim waited until he began to think that maybe the Vulcan had fallen asleep. Then, predictably, Spock chose that very moment to speak. "I do not consider myself to be a particularly turbulent sleeper. You have no need to worry."

Some hours later, Jim concluded that Spock was a terrible liar.

 _Not a turbulent sleeper, my ass,_ Jim thought sourly, grimacing as a bony elbow prodded his ribs sharply for the third time. It was, he noted with an irritated glance at the chrono, three in the morning, and he was still very much awake.

Spock made a quiet snuffling sound and rolled over to face Jim, stealing half the covers in the process as he tried to convert himself into the ever-familiar burrito state, and Jim found himself automatically shifting closer in an attempt to stay warm.

He stiffened slightly in surprise when he felt a hand snake out from the burrito to tuck unconsciously over his hip and opened his eyes suspiciously. Spock appeared to be asleep, the ever-present crease between his eyebrows only slightly smoothed over, and Jim was seized with a mad urge to press his lips to the spot. He mentally slapped himself and guiltily allowed himself to curl closer, excusing the movement with the thought of getting under what was left of the covers.

And if Spock woke approximately one point six hours later and found himself with a faceful of Jim's hair, it was his fault for being a blanket hog.


	4. Day Four

 

He was somewhere warm and soft, a luxury he’d never appreciated before experiencing the beds on the _Enterprise_. There wasn’t anything wrong with it, per se, but there was just something about a real mattress that couldn’t be replicated on a starship. Maybe he’d get Scotty to rig something up….yeah, he’d do that….comm him in the morning….

The warmth shifted and he burrowed closer, breathing in clean cotton and something….something under the soapy heat that he couldn’t identify.

“Jim.”

“Five more minutes,” he mumbled, but it came out more as a, “Fmmn merngmgn.”

"Captain." The voice was louder this time, sharper, and he felt the slightest edge of urgency seeping through his lethargy-

Jim's eyes snapped open as the dropping pang of reality settled in. He was suddenly, brutally aware he of the way his arms were hooked around Spock's waist and his face was pressed into the Vulcan’s side. His first officer was twisted in an awkward upright position as if he had been attempting to get out of bed before finding himself helplessly entrapped by his limpet of a captain.

“Sorry,” Jim said immediately, trying to pull away and fumbling at the sheets still twisted around his legs. “Oh, hell, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know-"

“Jim.” There was something resembling exasperation in Spock’s voice, and Jim glanced up at him apprehensively. It was light enough now for him to make out the silhouette of Spock’s mussed hair, the bangs sticking up in a way that made Jim want to do truly terrible things. “Hold still.”

Jim held still. It wasn’t as if he could do anything else, really.

Spock efficiently extracted himself from the tangle of limbs, standing by the side of the bed and straightening his shirt absently. “I believe our plans for today have been forestalled.

“What?” Jim stared at him blankly. It was too early to try and decipher Spock’s vernacular, except the chrono on the table read eight in the morning. But surely it shouldn’t be this dark still-

Then the crash of thunder shook the window, and Jim groaned.

..........

Jim stared out forlornly at the sheets of heavy rain driving down from the heavens. It was absolutely brutal, pounding against the window with all the straightforward simplicity of nature, and, needless to say, they definitely weren’t going anywhere today.

“This sucks,” he muttered, thumping his forehead against the glass gloomily. Of _course_ it would rain. Everything he tried to do always went wrong somehow, it seemed. He couldn’t even go on a decent vacation without something popping up.

Spock was sitting on the bed behind him, watching the news channel with a detached sort of interest. Like he was watching some kind of bizarre chemical reaction taking place before his eyes. When Jim heaved another noise of complaint, he spoke, “You can not control the weather, Jim. It is illogical to be emotionally upset over such an issue.”

Jim turned, gesturing frustratedly. “But it _sucks_! How is it raining so much anyway? It’s the desert!”

Spock opened his mouth, looking ready to tell Jim precisely how and why it was perfectly natural for precipitation to occur in the Southwestern regions of the North American continent- God, Jim could hear his voice already, going on and on, not that Spock didn’t have a nice voice, but _sometimes_ -

He raised a hand before Spock could start. “Whatever. Just.” Jim sighed and sat down heavily on the bed next to Spock, the mattress creaking and dipping beneath him. “Maybe tomorrow...”

“The storm is forecasted to last two days. I believe remaining any longer would overextend our week of leave.”

“I know, damn it,” Jim grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck irritably. “I should’ve seen this coming.”

“Jim, it is all right.”

“It’s not,” Jim muttered mulishly, but he didn’t continue. Spock didn’t seem too upset about it, though that was impossible to tell from his lack of expression. “I promised you.”

Spock looked at him contemplatively then, studying his face carefully before saying, “This will not be our last shore leave, Jim.”

Jim stared at him. There was something Spock wasn’t saying, but he _was_ , and Jim suddenly worried that he was reading too much into it. “So….” he attempted cautiously, “so you’re saying….”

“I would not be adverse to another attempt at this venture, if you so desired to repeat it in the future.” Spock affirmed, and redirected his attention to the holovision, but he didn’t seem to be watching very closely.

Jim looked at him another long moment, not knowing what to say. But sometimes, he thought, things were better left unsaid after all. So he exhaled slowly in wry amusement and flopped backwards onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “Well. One day off’s not too bad, I guess.”

“No,” Spock agreed vaguely from somewhere to the left of him. Jim raised his head slightly off the mattress to squint at his silhouette, and caught his breath. Spock was looking down at him, his expression unreadable as always, but yet more unguarded than Jim had ever seen it. He had a strange lurching feeling that if he reached out and touched him, if he pressed his fingers ever so lightly against that pale skin, Spock would break into a million pieces.

So Jim lay still and held his breath, and lost himself in that dark, fathomless gaze until Spock finally looked away. Only then did he drop his head back, heart pounding unreasonably as he examined the slightly raised whorls on the ceiling plaster.

“We could order in,” Jim said at length. “If you’re hungry.”

“That would be acceptable.”

“.....Spock?”

“Yes, Jim.”

“Have you ever had pizza?”

Spock made a strange noise, almost like a cough or a grunt, but when Jim looked over suspiciously, his face was as still and indifferent as it had been before. “I have not.”

“Oh man, we’ve gotta get you on that. If you can’t see the Grand Canyon, you’ve at least got to try pizza.”

“I was unaware that the Grand Canyon possessed a standard culinary equivalent.”

“You haven’t tried it,” Jim retorted, rolling over onto his side and rummaging in the nightstand drawer. “Trust me, it’ll change your world.”

Spock chanced a quick glance as Jim continued to search for the errant directory, and found his gaze frozen on Jim’s precarious position. He was half off the bed, one knee bent beneath him and his hips jutting upwards-

Jim loosed a triumphant exclamation and wiggled back onto the bed with the bulky tablet. Spock snapped his eyes back to the news channel, his heart thumping strangely against his ribs. He could still see so very clearly the strip of skin between Jim’s waistband and his rucked-up shirt, and faint shadow of his hipbones that drew the eye down in a vague suggestion of-

“What do you think?” Jim’s voice was unexpectedly close to his ear, and Spock flinched away before he could bring himself back under control. Fortunately, Jim did not seem to notice, sprawling easily on his stomach at Spock’s side to peruse the directory, flipping through the screens and scanning the list of local dining establishments intently.

“Here, how’s this sound?”

Spock did not turn to look. “I will leave the choice to you.”

He could sense Jim’s pout almost as clearly as if he had turned. “All right, then.”

A sodden adolescent appeared at their door approximately twenty-seven minutes later, blinking in awed recognition from under his cap as Jim winked and tipped him heavily.

Pizza, it turned out, was every bit as fascinating as Jim had made it out to be.

...........

Later, Jim stood at the window, watching the storm with a gloomy sort of resignation. “Did it ever rain like this on Vulcan?” he mused absently, looking at the curtains of rain as they enveloped the thirsting earth without really seeing them.

“There were seasonal rains,” came Spock’s quiet reply from somewhere behind him. “Nothing quite like the rain here, however.”

“Huh.” Jim imagined clear rivulets of water streaming over the cracked red plains, seeping into the ground and- _water dripping down a pale chest, pooling in-_ he blinked away the memory of Spock rising from that mountain lake and leaned closer to the window just as a massive fork of lightning tore apart the clouds, a deafening crash sounding barely half a second later. The glass shook with the force of the thunder, his heart stuttering from the suddenness of it all.

“Holy-” Jim reeled back from the window, stumbling over his own feet, and would have fallen humiliatingly on his ass if he hadn’t bumped into Spock. There was a hand around his elbow almost immediately, an arm securing itself around his waist and holding him upright. His awkward position put his head against Spock’s chest, just beneath his chin, and he could feel the fluttering of cool breaths against his hair.

Purple flashed when Jim blinked, the phantom imprints of the lightning burned into his vision. He let himself relax into Spock’s hold, eyes fluttering shut as his mind blissfully blanked out.

There was something….good about this, being this close to him. He had felt it before on the bike, when Spock’s arms tightened around him _just so_ , he had felt it when Spock had clung to him in the lake, he felt it now as Spock kept him from falling. As he had always done.

“There were frequent lightning storms on my home planet,” Spock said matter-of-factly, his voice rumbling against Jim’s back. “A fascinating spectacle, by all accounts.”

“Mm," Jim hummed distractedly, concentrating on the flutter of Spock's heart against his ribs. "Must have been something."

"Indeed." Spock loosened his grip and Jim straightened with a slight wobble, awkwardly turning to face Spock.

"Thanks," he heard himself say, and promptly lost everything else he might have said when he looked up and found himself looking into Spock’s eyes. He had somehow managed to forget how intensely Spock could stare until that moment. There were no social inhibitions with him, no secondary embarrassment that caused strangers to avert their gazes or polite niceties that dictated prolonged eye contact was inappropriate. It was just Spock, and he looked at Jim like a blind man seeing the sun for the first time.

_Had he always looked at him like that?_

In the end, Jim couldn’t take it anymore and he glanced away, unconsciously tilting his body away from Spock. There was something wrong with his heartbeat, how it jumped erratically and bounced off his ribs with a thumping that reverberated through his entire body.

He felt a hand on his arm, tentative and unsure, and it was the uncertainty that made him catch Spock’s wrist and turn around. They were so close, so very close. Their chests came together with every shallow breath, every gust of warm air brushing against both their faces so that Jim didn't know where his ended and where Spock's began. Spock leaned forward first, almost eagerly, then froze, a faint look of panic crossing his face. "You....you have very remarkable eyes, Jim," he finally said, with a touch of helplessness. "I do not believe I have ever informed you of that."

"No," Jim breathed, mingled incredulity and dizzy joy swirling incomprehensible within him. "No, you haven't."

Spock blinked twice in rapid succession and tried to pull away- and Jim kissed him.

It was a brazen thing to do, a stupid thing to do, but they had been gravitating towards this moment for what felt like their entire lives, falling towards each other at the speed of circumstance. And now it was here that they finally caught each other, and falling was nothing at all if they could fall together.

It was a soft kiss, a careful press of closed lips that was more question than demand. Jim had no idea how to kiss a man, much less how to kiss _Spock_. He paused, opening his eyes uncertainly, and searched Spock's face with a bit of nervousness. Spock's eyes were wide open, and he had the utterly disoriented look of a drowning man who had suddenly found ground beneath his feet and didn’t know if it was sand or stone.

Jim took a ragged breath, realizing his hands had somehow found their way to Spock's arms, and unhooked his fingers from his shirt awkwardly. "Um."

Spock's face flexed strangely in an expression Jim didn't recognize, and then his hand was on Jim's shoulder, pulling him closer. This time the kiss was a reassurance, a promise. It was awkward, it was unfamiliar, but it was the best damn kiss Jim had ever had. He gave a shaky chuckle against the steady pressure of Spock’s mouth and reached up, sliding his fingers through short black hair, pulling at the strands gently.

Spock made a quiet noise, almost a hum of approval. The hand on Jim's shoulder shifted higher in small intervals, eventually clasping the side of Jim's neck. His thumb rubbed slow circles against Jim's jaw, the grounding touch the only thing keeping Jim from flying straight out the window in a burst of dizzying emotion. His heart felt about to burst, swelling and swelling inside his chest with a joy he realized he hadn't felt in a very, very long time. Maybe not ever.

He exhaled breathlessly, parting his lips, trying to pull Spock even closer and frowning slightly in consternation when he found that he couldn’t. Their bodies were pressed against each other tightly, with no room left for even a breath, a heartbeat, but he wanted- _needed_ more. Spock’s other hand slid around his side, melding to the small of his back. Jim made a small noise of surprise, and Spock seemed to like that, opening his mouth against Jim’s and tilting his head to deepen the kiss.

Jim could feel Spock's heart pounding against his side, much faster than his own, and the pulsing beat was oddly reassuring in a triumphant sort of way. He pressed his tongue forward tentatively, tracing the edge of Spock’s bottom lip, but not daring to go any farther. He was teetering on the edge of another cliff, one he couldn’t see the bottom of. Spock’s arms tightened around him, and whether he was keeping Jim from falling or pulling him down, he couldn’t tell anymore. Admittedly, that could also be partially due to his pressing need for oxygen, but, to hell with it, he liked his version better.

Then Spock’s tongue slid forward and met his in a final surge, sealing them together, and Jim decided dizzily that air was indeed an overrated necessity. The cool slide of Spock’s tongue against his own was both unfamiliar and exhilarating, and he issued a muffled sigh of contentment.

The bed was at the back of Jim’s knees before either of them realized, and he sat down hard when he finally lost his balance. Spock went down with him, Jim’s hands still wound tight in his hair and around his neck, and caught himself against the mattress before he could flatten Jim beneath him.

They stayed like that for a moment, Jim still trying to catch his breath and Spock blinking very rapidly, as if his brain had skipped out on the last few minutes and was trying to catch up. Their faces were still very close, Spock’s arms braced on either side of Jim and his mouth- that terrible, wonderful mouth that Jim wanted to taste again with all his being- hovering just inches away.

“Jim,” Spock breathed, his brow furrowing with slight uncertainty.

Jim nodded jerkily, willing his heart to slow the hell down and go back down to his chest where it belonged. Spock’s hand shifted slightly, as if intending to reach for him, and Jim was pushing him away before his mind had caught up, breathing heavily and eyes wide as if he’d run a marathon instead of…..well.

“Sorry,” he blurted, his mouth still tingling and numb. He could taste the pizza from Spock’s tongue, he thought hysterically. _No, stop, don’t go there-_ “Sorry, I didn’t. I didn’t mean to.”

Something flickered behind Spock’s eyes, sharp and uncertain, and Jim shook his head hard. “No, Spock, it’s not like that.” He reached up and grasped Spock’s wrist, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He could feel the Vulcan’s fluttering pulse, so much quicker than his own racing heartbeat, and he tried again, “I just…” He faltered, unable to say anything else, and Spock fell silent, giving him a scrutinizing once-over before rolling carefully off of Jim to sit beside him on the bed.

They didn’t talk about the kiss for the rest of the day, but it wasn’t as awkward as Jim had feared. It was something that bound them together in silence rather than push them apart, something intimate and tentative and that had yet to be fully discovered. It was quite possibly the beginning of something different, something new, and the thought didn’t scare Jim as much as it might have before.

It wasn’t as if it was their first kiss, anyway. He remembered all too well the turmoil he’d been in after Pike died, the fire and sorrow that had gripped him tight and propelled him straight into Spock. That kiss hadn’t been the best memory, though. It wasn’t like this one. This was something…..something else altogether, and if Bones was here, he’d call Jim a blundering ninny and bash him over the head for overthinking it.

But McCoy wasn’t here, and so Jim introduced Spock to the wonders of reality shows and regaled him of the less than stellar tales of his misguided childhood instead. When he nonchalantly glossed over the whole Corvette debacle, Spock looked at him quietly for a long time, but said nothing. _I think I love him_ , Jim’s mind decided to helpfully produce at that very moment, and he faltered briefly before moving on to his fourteenth birthday and the Auntie Perry incident, trying to calm the sudden pounding of his heart.  

Jim slept in Spock’s bed that night. It wasn’t something either of them had particularly decided; he simply hadn’t make the move to get into the other bed when the time came and Spock hadn’t stopped him, only pausing to give him a careful stare before climbing silently under the sheets beside him. And even though it wasn’t the first time they had shared a bed, it felt like the first time all over again to Jim. Every hushed breath was somehow different, every shift of the mattress held another meaning, every brush of skin or clothing against his own required deep contemplation. It was both maddening and addicting, and Jim felt more and more lost by the second.

He found himself gradually scooting closer and closer to the center of the bed until he was practically curled against Spock’s back, the tip of his nose just brushing above the collar of Spock’s shirt. He breathed out slowly and closed his eyes. His heart was doing one-fifty in his chest- there was no way Spock couldn’t hear it, and Jim didn’t know if he liked that or not.

“Jim.” Spock said, the deep rumbling of his words tantalizingly close to Jim’s face. Drowsily, he pressed his lips lightly to the back of Spock’s neck, trying to taste that _voice._

“Jim,” Spock repeated.

“Mmm?” Jim inched closer, placing a hand impulsively on Spock’s side. He could feel Spock’s ribcage expanding with every breath, the coolness of his skin beneath the soft fabric. He nosed forward with a small sigh of contentment, enjoying the feeling of being this close to another body. He didn’t like being alone- never had, really- and it had been so long-

Then Spock was turning over to face him, and Jim suddenly found himself with a faceful of frowning Vulcan. He caught his breath and forgot how to exhale, staring blankly as Spock blinked slowly at him. “That is very distracting,” Spock said quietly. His breath carried the scent of the motel toothpaste, and Jim shouldn’t find that half as fascinating as he did.

“Spock,” Jim said, and his voice came out more strangled than he had intended. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Spock, I think...I think I-”

Spock pressed his fingertips to Jim’s mouth, silencing him immediately. Jim still hadn’t remembered how to breathe correctly. He managed to gasp in a choked bid for air, his lips parting, and he could taste the cool salty-sweet of Spock’s skin. Spock pulled back and sighed, the smooth exhale running slightly ragged towards the end, and it was enough encouragement for Jim to lean forward and press a light kiss to the corner of Spock’s mouth, drawing back almost apologetically after the brief contact.

“I think I’m in too deep, Spock,” Jim confessed quietly. “I’m scared.”

He shifted forward those last few millimeters, his forehead coming to rest against Spock’s, and looked into those dark, guarded eyes. His next words rose easily to his lips, despite the uncertainty pounding in his chest. “Help me not be?”

A second passed. A heartbeat, a flicker of doubt-

Spock’s hand came up slowly and brushed through Jim’s hair in a gesture so human, so familiar, so intimate, that it caused Jim’s breath to hitch in his chest, a strange lump in his throat. Spock paused with his hand cupping the back of Jim’s head, looking at him with a steady intent that terrified him. The lights flickering through the window played oddly on his face, catching and glimmering in his dark eyes.

“Please,” Jim whispered.

Spock pulled him forward and kissed him with surprising force, crushing his mouth to Jim's with an intensity that matched his stares, his voice, his words, his mind, everything about him. Spock had fascinated him since the day they met, and there was no logic in all the worlds that could explain what had always been meant to be.

Then Spock was rolling them over, pinning Jim on his back, and there was a knee nudging between his legs, a line of focused, insistent kisses pressing against his jaw and throat that drove every thought out of his mind. Cool hands pushed demandingly under his shirt, tracing every curve of warm muscle and bone with unrelenting intent. It was all Jim could do just to keep breathing, panting breathlessly into Spock's shoulder and clutching blindly at Spock's back as his knee drove higher and harder, reassuring in its pressure.

And as the storm pounded against the window and threw lightning shadows on the walls, Jim forgot what it meant to be afraid.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: eh, sorry if anyone actually wanted them to go to the Grand Canyon, but I figured it was the journey and not the destination that counted, right? Also, I've never actually seen the Grand Canyon and I'm sure I wouldn't have done it justice and I wanted some rain and making out okay.


	5. Day Five

When Jim woke, it was with a lurching dread that it had all been some sort of wacked-up, embarrassingly wonderful dream. It was still raining, but the clouds had thinned out just enough to reveal the rising sun, orange beams flickering through the window, and everything seemed like it had always been.

Then he became aware of the heavy weight draped over him, pinning him effectively to the bed, and the gusts of cool air wafting gently against the back of his neck. He closed his eyes, felt a flutter of a second heartbeat against his back. He hadn't imagined Spock to be much of a cuddler, much less a  _spooner_ , but that was essentially what he was doing, his arm wrapped possessively around Jim's waist and cold feet pressed against the insides of Jim's calves.

With some difficulty, Jim tried to sit up, pausing when the Vulcan grumbled incoherently in his sleep and tightened his grip. Resignedly, Jim lay back down, shifting carefully in the circle of Spock's arms so that they faced each other.

There was something unabashedly open about Spock's sleeping face that made him seem younger, more vulnerable. The constant furrow between his brows was smoothed over, his lips slightly parted in a way that made Jim all sorts of conflicted as he gazed down at the Vulcan's expression.

He watched him for a moment longer, then wiggled closer, nosing at the line of Spock's jaw and pressing his face against the hollow beneath his chin. He could feel Spock's morning stubble scraping against his skin, tickling his nose whenever he breathed in, and he nuzzled deeper.

"Mmm." The bleary hum against the top of his head went almost unnoticed by the human. "Jim?"

"What?" Jim mumbled, his lips stirring against Spock's collarbone. He heard a sharp intake of air above him and reflexively pushed his face closer to Spock's chest.

Spock disentangled from him so swiftly that Jim almost received backlash. He rolled onto his back bemusedly, blinking up at the ceiling, as Spock shot violently out of bed. "My apologies," the Vulcan said instantly, looking tastefully rumpled as he ran a hand unthinkingly through his mussed hair. Jim had sudden visions of his own hands disheveling that hair just the night before. "I did not intend-"

"Spock-" Jim tried.

"I have overstepped-"

"Spock, shut  _up_."

Spock's mouth snapped shut immediately, looking at Jim reproachfully like some kind of overgrown puppy that had been kicked, and Jim let his stern tone relax. He lifted his arm instead, pulling back the corner of the covers and patting at the mattress next to him impatiently. "Get back in here. It's way too early for this."

A moment of hesitation as Spock's gaze flicked from his hand to his face to the mattress and, inexplicably, to his bare chest for a lingering moment before situating firmly on the floor. But he sat down stiffly on the edge of the bed beside Jim, shoulders tensed and fingers digging uncertainly into the sheets.

Jim stared at his bare back for a moment, momentarily thrown by the sight of a faint green bite mark he barely remembered leaving on Spock's shoulder, then reached out, tickling a feather-light trail up his spine with his fingertips and grinning when the Vulcan flinched in surprise. "C'mere."

Spock peered at him balefully over his shoulder. "I do not require further rest, Captain."

Normally, Jim would chew him out for bringing up formal titles at a time like this, but there was something about the way Spock said it, something fond and secretive and yet wildly inappropriate, that made him grin instead.

"Indulge me, Spock."

"I do so too often," Spock murmured wryly, but he pulled his legs up onto the bed and slid back into the circle of Jim's outstretched arms, lying back with a soft exhale under the sheets and into the warm spot that he had so abruptly vacated before.

Jim turned back into Spock's chest and hummed contentedly, his eyelids drooping drowsily again now that  _that_  had been settled. "Better, right?"

Spock didn't answer, but Jim took the way he turned towards him and pressed his face against the top of Jim's head as answer enough.

It was well into the morning before either of them made a move to leave the bed again, but eventually, Spock shifted and raised himself onto an elbow, looking down at Jim. "We must vacate the motel in an hour," he said, not without some reluctance, Jim noticed with glee.

Jim pretended to think about it, shifting onto his back and stretching luxuriously. He could feel Spock's eyes tracing consideringly over the flex of his abdomen, hesitating overly on where the sheet pooled loosely over his hips, but when he glanced over, Spock's gaze was back on his face, if a little unsteadily.

"An hour's an awful long time," Jim said eventually, folding his arms behind his head and flashing a suggestive grin.

Spock looked as if he was seriously considering it for all of three short seconds, then shook his head regretfully. "We must be on our way if we plan to return in time."

"About that," Jim said, recalling the message he had sent the night before. "We've still got a couple of days, you know. And the storm looks like it'll clear up later this afternoon." Another quicksilver grin. "If we head straight back afterwards, we could head to the Canyon after all."

Spock gazed at him with a strange expression, until Jim's smile began to slip uncertainly. "No?"

"Perhaps another time," Spock said quietly, then unexpectedly reached out to cup the side of Jim's face with a gentle hand, thumb brushing lightly across the corner of his lips, where it lingered for a tingling moment. "I already consider this trip a success, all in all."

Jim felt his heart begin to race, fluttering in his chest in that almost panicked way that only Spock could ever make him feel. "That's sweet," he said weakly, resisting the maddening urge to crush his mouth to Spock's, roll him over, throw him against the wall, take flight into the freaking sky with him, and show him a  _real_  success. "But now we've got two extra days."

Spock looked thoughtful, then leaned in and pressed his lips carefully against Jim's. Jim had discovered something about Spock only very recently, and it was that he kissed funny. He  _placed_  his mouth everywhere like he was stamping a document, setting it firmly against Jim's skin and lips as if making a statement. Making a claim. It was weird, it was quirky, and it turned Jim on like nothing else.

"I believe that you mentioned Las Vegas," Spock finally whispered innocuously into his mouth, and Jim drew back in utter shock, gaping.

"Are you  _serious_? You'd go to Vegas with me?" he demanded, on the verge of gripping Spock's collar and shaking him.

"I was under the impression that you would be in favor of the proposal," Spock said warily, as if unsure how to gauge Jim's response. "Is it not to your liking?"

" _Not to my-_  Spock, hell  _yes_ , I want to go to Vegas. I've always wanted to, I can't believe- Oh my  _God_." Jim laughed helplessly. He felt almost dizzy with excitement, shock, delight, and-

"I love you so damn much." The words were out before he could stop them, and he wasn't altogether sure that he would have done so even if he could.

Spock stared at him for so long that Jim thought he might pass out from the sheer lightheadedness of it all, before the corner of his mouth twitched in that strange little half-smile of his. "I am aware," he answered eventually, and there was a sort of wondering in his voice at his own words.

…

The road stretched before them, empty and endless for as far as the eye could see. They had left the storm clouds behind them, flecks of raindrops still dripping from the shining metal curves of the motorcycle as they sped away from the dark skies to the brighter horizon in the West.

It wasn't until later that Spock discovered Jim's strange fascination with his hands. The younger man was playing with one now as they sat on a grassy stretch along the empty road, watching the sun set over the mountains. Or, rather, Spock sat, while Jim reclined carelessly with his head pillowed on Spock's left thigh and grasping the Vulcan's left hand between his own. Spock had been too shocked to protest initially when Jim suddenly flung himself down without warning, but now he saw certain advantages in this position- he could feel every breath Jim took against his leg, each gentle swell a steady reassurance of the warm weight against his leg.

There was a tickling sensation as Jim mapped the lines on his palm with a curious fingertip, and Spock shifted uncomfortably.

"You've got sensitive hands," Jim murmured absently.

"Indeed," Spock replied simply, not knowing what else to say, or how much to say.

"Huh." Jim began kneading in small circles with his thumbs, every dry rasp of skin against Spock's palm a teasing torture. Spock closed his eyes, focusing on the distant sensations of the grass beneath his body, the slight stir of the wind in his hair and clothing.

He could feel Jim's breath against his tingling palm, warm and fragile. His fingers twitched in an aborted motion to catch it, and Jim paused momentarily in his administrations. For a moment, Spock thought he was safe, then Jim kissed his fingertips lightly, and his thoughts came to an abrupt, screeching stop.

"What are we, Spock?" Jim murmured, so quietly that Spock was not initially sure if he had heard correctly. He considered the question gravely nevertheless, counting the steady beats of Jim's heart.

"I am not certain how best to answer a question of such philosophical magnitu-"

Jim cut him off a soft snort. "No, you idiot, I meant what are  _we_? To each other?"

Ah. Spock stared wordlessly down at the top of Jim's head, watching the sunlight play in the golden strands.

"Not my boyfriend," Jim said decidedly, answering his own question. "But a hell lot more than a friend, wouldn't you say?"

Spock shifted his hand, moving it down so that his fingertips brushed the corner of Jim's mouth. He traced the curve of Jim's lower lip absently as he considered the question, not missing the flicker of Jim's eyelids as his index finger brushed briefly over his parted lips.

"I am….your first officer," Spock said at length, his voice quiet in the still silence.

Jim frowned, his lips turning down beneath Spock's distracted explorations. He grabbed Spock's wrist again, pulling his hand away. "That's not what I meant."

"I am your first officer, Jim" Spock repeated, "and you are my captain. In every sense of the term." He wondered if he had intended to emphasize the possessive form, and paused, regarding the man lying against him. "Is that not enough?"

Jim was quiet for a moment, his eyes focused on Spock's fingers again.

"Every sense, huh?" he asked at length, the corner of his mouth twitching inexplicably.

"Of course."

Another pause, this one longer and filled with things unsaid.

"You're right," Jim said, his voice pitched lower this time. His hand tightened over Spock's.  _Mine_. Spock did not know whose thought it was.

It was a quiet and thoughtful Jim that climbed back onto the motorcycle and bounced a little on the seat, looking over expectantly. Spock mounted and wrapped his arms around Jim's waist tightly without a second thought, the motion a half-formed habit by now.

It was ten minutes by Spock's estimate before Jim spoke, shouting over the roaring of the engine. "What do you say we take the long way back?" He turned his head to eye Spock sidelong. There was a mischievous glint evident in his glance even through the lens of his goggles. Spock had never been able to say no to that particular expression, and he suspected now that he never would.

And so he leaned forward with an indulgent sigh, pressing his chest tighter against Jim's back and pressing his lips beside Jim's ear as he asked, "In that case, where are we headed next?"

Jim thought for a moment, then laughed out loud in pure delight. It seemed to Spock that the sound lingered in the air before disappearing into the wind, and something in him reveled in it.

"I don't know!" Jim finally answered, what Spock could see of his face alight with wonder. "Isn't that great?"

And as the motorcycle carried them to nowhere in particular, Spock held the warm body in his arms, breathing in the smell of earth and sunlight and the promise of many years to come, and he found that he had to agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: One more chapter to go! The boys will be flouncing about in Vegas.


	6. Chapter 6

"No, you're fine," Jim blurted, and scowled in embarrassment. "Never mind...do what you want." He turned away abruptly and squeezed out of the tiny bathroom, but not before seeing Spock's puzzled expression.

Spock didn't shave, and Jim found himself staring at the unfamiliar shadow on his face all morning. Spock's hair had gone irreparably unkempt over the past few days, growing out slightly past his normal hairstyle, and when he wore his coat collar up with his hair precariously windswept and his jaw darkened with two-day stubble….

How Jim was expected to resist that, he had no idea.

Fortunately, the hotel he'd managed to get them into provided enough distraction to keep him from jumping his first officer. It was a couple of blocks away from the Strip, not quite the penthouse, but the closest second that Jim could get, though the manager had nearly bent over double for them once he figured out who they were.

Jim restrained himself from hitting the Strip until the first rosy tinges of sunset spread across the sky. As soon as the neon signs flickered to life, he was dragging Spock downstairs to the glittering streets, grinning and flushed with excitement. He'd taken them both out shopping during the day, determined that he was going to get Spock into a pair of those leather pants that were apparently all the rage on Delta Four, and he hadn't been disappointed by the local retailers.

Spock looked  _good_ , even though he'd finally given in to his Vulcan sensibilities and shaved before leaving, but it only made the tantalizing glimpses of his pale jaw and throat above the dark collar of his jacket that much more tantalizing.

Jim didn't even want to get started on those pants. The way they hugged Spock's hips, defined the muscles in his legs, the way the black fabric caught the light- no. He was here on a mission and not even Spock's incredibly distracting physique was going to stop him from having the night of his life.

 _Start small_ , he reminded himself, as he led the way through crowded sidewalks and packs of gawking tourists. It was probably Spock's first time at a casino, and it'd been years since Jim had been. Vegas was likely a little too much for either of them at the moment.

He spotted the silver starship sign next to an arching fountain with colored lights beneath the spouts and grinned. "There."

Spock followed his gaze, and the corner of his mouth shifted in that odd way of his that really wasn't a smile at all. "Naturally," was all he said, and they crossed the street.

Jim sighed contentedly when the blast of cold air beyond the golden doors chased away the clinging heat of the streets. He ran a hand through his hair as he turns, scanning the carpeted lobby with mounting excitement. "All right, we're going to go there," he pointed at the counters lining one gleaming wall, complete with smiling women with white gloves and perfectly coiffed hair behind the glass partitions, "we're going to buy in, then we're going to go wild."

Spock eyed the counters for a moment, then nodded gravely. "That is acceptable."

"Do you…..you know how this all works?" Jim gestured vaguely at their surroundings, suddenly unsure how Spock was going to handle this.

Spock looked at him, arching an eyebrow as if Jim had said something incredibly defacing. "I am familiar with your culture's games of chance."

"They're not really-"

"Of course, 'chance' is a subjective term that would do better to be replaced by 'mathematical calculation of infinitesimal probability-"

"You'll do fine," Jim said decisively, and he clapped Spock's shoulder with a cheerful grin. "Let's go."

The crowd beyond the counters was mostly what he expected in a mid-class casino. Modestly dressed, considering the setting, with the occasional glint of jewelry and other adornments in the low light. Chandeliers hung low over their heads, glittering and spinning slowly above the tables. Jim shoved his hands in his pockets, listening to the satisfying clatter of chips, and sighed in content. "Yeah, this is more like it."

Spock was looking around impassively, his face blank and unreadable as he took in each table with increased concentration. "Is there a usual…..protocol as to how to initiate participation?"

"Not really. You see something you like, you sit and they cut you in. Just don't lose," Jim added, then bumped Spock's arm amiably. "Go on. I'll just be over there." He indicated a roulette table he'd been glancing at appreciatively from the beginning.

Spock gazed at him for a moment, and Jim paused mid-step. "You gonna be okay?" he asked, wondering if maybe he'd pushed it a bit far by throwing Spock straight into the fray.

Unexpectedly, Spock reached out and grazed the back of his hand against Jim's sleeve. The intent behind the gesture surprised him more than the slight contact, and Jim gawked openly for a few seconds. "What-"

"Good luck, Captain," Spock said, and Jim was startled into a grin, remembering the conversation that had resulted in this entire trip.

"Keep talking that way, Spock, we'll make a human out of you yet." He backed away a couple of steps, snapping a casual salute that left him feeling even more awkward, and turned quickly before he could make a bigger fool out of himself. Spock had this terrible habit of catching him off guard with the simplest of things, and it never failed to give Jim all sorts of ideas that he shouldn't be having in public.

There were two other players at the roulette table, a middle-aged man with red hair that reminded him a bit of Scotty, and a younger woman who glanced once at Jim with interest before moving over to let him in. He situated himself along the side where he could keep an eye on Spock before piling his chips busily on the table, eyeing the current layout.

He played safe to start, dropping a couple of chips onto the red before raising his eyes. Spock had found his way to a blackjack table, he noted, seated with his back to Jim's table. One of the occupants leaned over and said something to the Vulcan, who turned his head slightly to listen. Jim felt an unreasonable spike of jealousy and lowered his gaze quickly to consider his betting options once more.

A few rounds passed and Jim's pile of chips grew steadily larger. He was raking in the last few blue discs with a delighted grin when he glanced over at Spock again absently, then froze, his chips lying forgotten on the table. There were two heavy-set men in suits standing on either side of the seated Vulcan, and Jim had definitely seen enough holovids in his lifetime to know exactly where this was heading. He made his excuses smoothly, abandoning half his winnings in his haste, and made for Spock's table as quickly as he could.

By the time he was close enough to hear their exchange, he wasn't sure whether to laugh or freak out.

"Sir, you need to come with us," the man on the left, whom Jim had already automatically named Big was saying. His partner, Heavy, folded his arms across his chest menacingly, his suit rippling and straining at the seams.

Spock looked up at them calmly, head swiveling from one to the other. "I do not perceive an issue at hand." He had a mountain of chips in front of him, Jim saw with an edge of hysteria, all stacked neatly according to value and forming some sort of color coded pyramid. The ass had even made what looked like a replica of Stonehenge off to one side.

The dealer and other players at the table were studiously ignoring the scene, though the surrounding patrons were starting to take notice. Jim shouldered forward through the growing crowd, sliding around Heavy smoothly and grasping Spock by the arm. "Hey there,  _Spock_ ," he forced through gritted teeth, grinning in what he hoped was a charming and breezy manner at the bouncers. "Gentlemen. What can I do for you?"

"Ain't your problem, kid," Big snorted. "Problem's with your pal here."

Spock opened his mouth, and Jim squeezed his arm warningly to shut him up. "Problem?" he repeated idiotically, still smiling. "Nah, Spock here's no problem at all, is he? A proper civilian, this one. He's Vulcan, you know."

"Let's take this outside," Heavy rumbled, and Jim's smile took on a hint of desperation.

"No, I'm sure that won't be nec-"

"Very well," Spock said suddenly, rising from his seat and dislodging Jim's grip from his arm. "We shall discuss this elsewhere."

Big and Heavy led the way through the casino, and Jim took the opportunity to hiss in Spock's ear, "What the hell did you  _do_?!"

"I was merely ascertaining the order of the cards through visual-"

"Wait, you were  _counting_   _cards_?" Jim wanted to laugh and punch him in the face at the same time. "You can't  _do_ that here, Spock! Or, if you have to, at least do it without drawing attention!"

Spock blinked at him slowly, almost recalcitrantly. "I apologize," he said, somehow not sounding apologetic at all. The urge to punch him was slowly beginning to overpower Jim's amusement.

"I'm going to get  _so_ trashed tonight," he muttered, determined that if he was going to be pounded into a sad pile of bruises and broken bones, he might as well drink his way down the Strip afterwards he peeled himself off the pavement.

In the end, it turned out that being evicted alongside Spock was probably the best situation possible. It hadn't taken longer than three seconds in the alley and one solid sucker punch to Jim's gut before the Vulcan finally realized what Big and Heavy had in mind for them, and he decided to take matters into his own nerve-pinching hands. By the time Heavy hit the ground, Jim was swiftly making plans to take Spock along with him on  _all_  his bar runs from now on.

"That was great," Jim gasped, still wheezing from disbelieving laughter as they stumbled down the street. Or rather, Jim clutched at Spock's arm and staggered along while the Vulcan gripped the back of his jacket to make sure he didn't fall on his face.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, probing efficiently at the swelling on Jim's jaw with cool fingertips.

"Ow," Jim complained, batting Spock's hand away. "I'm fine. But seriously, that was awesome."

Spock gave him a long look, as if wondering if he'd taken more damage to his head from the punch than either of them had thought. "There was nothing particularly awe-inspiring about the altercation."

"No, it's just the fact that it  _happened_. We were thrown out of a casino because you were counting cards, and then you kicked their asses anyway." The situation was becoming more hilarious the more he thought about it, and Jim grinned before wincing and shifting his bruised jaw back and forth a couple of times. "That being said, I think it's best to stick to the bars from now on, huh?"

"That might be advisable."

It was perhaps not the wisest decision he had made, Spock later realized, as he helped Jim stagger away from the third establishment of their increasingly excitable night. He had narrowly defused the most recent aggression before it had escalated to the point of physical violence by demonstrating his admittedly outdated knowledge of the Terran legislative systems. And he had only managed it due to the already disconcerted state of the opposing party. After taking a few feeble, halfhearted swings that struck nothing but air, he had been permitted to leave with his drunkenly babbling captain in tow.

"It would do you some good," Spock stated, "to learn some restraint. Even better, I suggest that you utilize it occasionally."

"You're no fun," Jim accused, nearly crashing into a light pole. He squinted suspiciously at the obstruction before maneuvering around it clumsily, leaning heavily on Spock's side and clutching at his sleeve. Spock allowed it, if only because it brought Jim closer to himself and farther out of harm's way.

He managed to guide the both of them back to the hotel, where he nodded at the receptionist and maneuvered his captain into the elevator.

"You're the best," Jim mumbled against his shoulder, and Spock tightened his grip around the man's waist. "Seriously. Best night ever."

"I shall hold you to that statement in the morning."

"Ha." Jim gripped the back of Spock's jacket for support as they lurched unevenly down the hallway, knocking his shoulder against the doorway when they attempted to enter their room at the same time. Spock left Jim in the center of the room, ensuring that he would not fall over by propping him against a table, and crossed over to the closet to remove his jacket. He could smell something sweet in the air, heavy and dark, and it was unfamiliar enough that he did not recognize it until Jim said, "Sweet, the fondue fountain came."

He turned to see Jim inspecting the pot of bubbling liquid that Spock had skimmed over upon his first glance through the room, dismissing it as another one of the hotel's complimentary services.

"Ordered it before we left," Jim explained, without waiting for Spock's inevitable question. "It's  _so good_ ," he said earnestly, looking up at Spock. "Really, it's the best." He picked up a strawberry from the accompanying platter and dunked it enthusiastically in the chocolate.

Spock watched him take an overlarge bite out of the fruit, his tongue darting out to clean the stray drops of chocolate on his lips. A dribble of juice welled at the corner of his mouth and Jim wiped at it absently, licking the stain on the back of his hand. He raised his eyes and met Spock's gaze, still chewing thoughtfully. "Want some?"

"Perhaps at a later time," Spock deflected, glancing away as he spoke. "It is late, I wish to prepare for-"

"C'mere," Jim said, his voice suddenly much closer and sounding nearly sober for a split second, and Spock looked up automatically in response-

Jim's hand shot out with surprising speed and accuracy for his current state, fisting in the fabric of Spock's collar and hauling him forward. The first kiss went tragically awry, landing somewhere southwest of Spock's lips instead of its intended destination, but the next attempt placed Jim's mouth in the correct location.

Spock made a small sound of protest and warning, reaching out to readjust the distance between them, but Jim pushed forward insistently, tightening his grip on the Vulcan's shirt.

His kisses were not unlike a storm, Spock distantly noted.  _Unpredictable-_

-a sudden bite to the corner of his mouth-

_-relentless-_

-followed by a swipe of his hot tongue across the seam of Spock's lips-

_-overwhelming-_

-hands winding around the back of his neck, sliding into his hair and gripping hard-

-Spock's back met the wall with a sudden thump, and he raised a hand automatically to steady himself, fingers sliding around the side of Jim's face and holding him…...back? Closer?

He did not know, and he swiftly found himself no longer caring.

Jim pulled back to gasp for air before plunging back in eagerly, pushing Spock hard against the wall as he pressed open-mouthed kisses to Spock's brow, cheek, jaw, then proceeded to ravage his mouth thoroughly. There was something digging uncomfortably beneath Spock's shoulder blade- a light switch of some kind- but the pain became a secondary notice to the blazing distraction that was Jim's hands now sliding greedily up the back of his shirt, fingertips tapping an indecipherable tattoo across his ribs.

"Jim," he gasped, his senses finally returning. He brought his hands around with difficulty and seized Jim's wrists, restraining them tightly against his chest.

Not to be foiled by the interruption, Jim's mouth wandered determinedly to his throat, teeth scraping and tongue flicking at the throbbing pulse point beneath his jaw. Spock closed his eyes briefly, steeling himself. "Jim, wait."

"Shut up," Jim mumbled against his neck, his hips crowding Spock even closer against the wall. "I'm drunk."

"I am aware," Spock told him, pushing him away gently. Jim blinked up at him confusedly, his overbright eyes glittering in the dim light and his parted lips-

 _No_. Spock shook his head forcefully. "You are inebriated," he said firmly, tightening his grip on Jim's shoulders. "It is best if you rest now."

"Don't wanna," Jim said petulantly, his chin jutting out defiantly. "Wanna try out the hot tub."

Spock resisted the urge to rub at his face wearily, crossing his arms firmly across his chest instead. "Very well," he said evenly. "But afterwards-"

"You're coming in with me."

Spock blinked. And blinked again. "Excuse me, Captain, I do not believe I heard that correctly-"

"You're. Coming in. With me." Jim grinned loopily. There was a high flush in his cheeks, his eyes glittering and all too blue. "That's an order, Commaaaanderrrr." He slurred the last word, swaying forward alarmingly. He came to rest against Spock's chest, chin tucked conveniently over Spock's shoulder. He then turned his face under Spock's jaw and inhaled greedily, the tickle of his breath against sensitive skin causing Spock to flinch reflexively, his hands coming up to grip Jim's arms.

"Cease that at once."

"What, thiiiiiis?" Jim nuzzled the side of Spock's neck, hips pushing insistently against Spock's thigh. He giggled drunkenly, "Come on, Spooooock. Hey, hey, you know what rhymes with Spock? Co-"

"That is enough." With a surge of willpower, Spock placed a hand firmly across Jim's mouth, propelling him backwards towards the bathroom. Jim giggled, his tongue flicking out teasingly through the gaps between Spock's fingers. Spock faltered halfway through the bathroom door at the abrupt assault on his already frazzled nerves, his heart spiking almost painfully against his ribs as Jim licked a broad, hot stripe across his palm. It felt exhilarating, burning-

"Jim." He hoped his voice was not as shaken as he felt.

"Mmmm?" Jim took advantage of Spock's distraction to wrap a hand around his wrist, holding him still as he pulled Spock's first two fingers into his mouth.

Spock grabbed the doorway for support as his knees threatened to buckle. His eyes flickered, vision bursting with white spots as Jim did something  _fascinating_ with his tongue and then-

"That is  _enough_." He pulled his hand away forcefully, gripping the front of Jim's shirt and pulling him up until he stood on his toes. Jim plucked at his arm bemusedly for a few moments, then gave up and let his hands swing at his sides. He tilted his head lazily, eyeing Spock with the carelessness of one truly liberated from rationality. "Why don't you….make me stop?" he drawled, a loose grin tugging at his lips.

Spock felt a tick of slow anger in the corner of his mind and stifled it halfheartedly. He regarded Jim coolly for a moment longer, then deposited him unceremoniously on the bathroom counter beside the sink. "Stay," he ordered, turning away to begin filling the tub.

He should not have expected Jim to obey. Less than two seconds later, he found himself hauled backwards by his collar by two legs wrapped tightly around his waist. The sound of water gushing into the tub muffled his grunt of surprise as he lost his balance, stumbling backwards until his back met Jim's chest.

There was a warm, almost burning hand wriggling under his shirt before he could so much as register his position, tracing skittishly over his stomach while Jim's mouth found the side of his neck again and bit down sulkily. "Don't ignore me," he breathed petulantly, his lips brushing against Spock's ear.

"I was not." Spock attempted to extricate himself without hurting Jim, then froze as the hand that had been obsessively circling his belly button wandered downwards with obvious intent. "Jim-"

"Shh," Jim murmured, his breath hot and wet against Spock's skin. He swallowed audibly, shifting uncomfortably as Jim's hand tightened appreciatively. "Yeah….much better, right?"

"No," Spock said tersely. The sound of hot water filling the tub echoed around the room, filling his ears until he could not recollect quite what he had been doing before….the air was warming, a hint of humidity lacing the atmosphere. Spock took all of this in gradually, feeling more than a little warm himself as he became aware of Jim rocking slightly against his back, his breathless groan muffled against Spock's shoulder.

"You-"

"Shut up," Jim mumbled.

Spock felt a spike of irritation through the lazy waves of pleasure pulsing through his abdomen. He steeled himself and turned around awkwardly within the circle of Jim's arms, frowning disapprovingly at the inebriated grin pasted across the man's face. "Remove your clothing," he said sternly.

Jim hiccupped in glee. "Say please."

Spock stared at him evenly, trying to suppress the leaping sensation in his gut at those slurred, unexpectedly sincere words. "You are not yourself," he said, careful to enunciate every word steadily. "Remove your clothing, or I shall do so for you."

Jim leaned back against the mirror, still grinning, and made no move to undress.

"Very well," Spock said at last. He reached out and grasped the edge of Jim's shirt between his fingers. Jim did not move, and Spock stepped closer, lifting the fabric up slightly. He could  _smell_ Jim, hot and damp from exertion and excitement, the inch of exposed skin above his waistband seeming to glow enticingly in the half light of the bathroom. Spock pulled the shirt up higher, and Jim raised his arms obligingly, his muscles clenching and flexing as he laced his fingers above his head.

Spock allowed himself to inch forward slightly, the outside of his thighs bumping against Jim's spread knees. He tugged the shirt over Jim's head, then up his arms, and suddenly Jim's face was all too close to his own.

"Keep going," Jim murmured, his hooded eyes fixed intently on Spock's mouth.

"You are not in the proper state of mind," Spock said gently, ignoring his own plummet of disappointment when Jim's face fell.

"Ah, hell," Jim grumbled, pushing clumsily away from Spock. "My bag-"

"What?" Spock asked, uncharacteristically inept as he braced himself against the counter, a hand on either side of Jim's waist.

"Get my bag-" Jim made a fumbling effort to reach the bedroom, and Spock stepped aside automatically to let him stumble out. The air was warm and growing damp from the accumulating steam, curling his hair against the back of his neck. He heard rustling and a muffled curse before Jim strode determinedly back into the bathroom, rubbing at his neck and scowling. His eyes were still bright, but clear, and there was a certain twist of displeasure to his lips as he tossed the empty hypo into the sink that could only come from abrupt sobriety.

"What was that?" Spock asked, though he was fairly certain he had made the correct assumptions about the hypospray.

"Who cares, I'm sober as hell now," Jim said grumpily, looping his arms around Spock's neck and hauling him in close. His bare chest was overbearingly warm even through the Vulcan's clothing, his hands sliding beseechingly through Spock's hair. "So let's-"

"Your bath," Spock pointed out, grasping Jim's wrists and gently peeling him away.

Jim made a noise of protest, then grinned with renewed mischief as he dropped his hands to his waistband. "All right."

Spock forced himself to watch impassively as Jim unfastened his pants and let them pool at his ankles before stepping out of the clump of fabric. He was not wearing underwear, Spock saw, and he thought ruefully that it should not take him by such surprise after all this time.

Jim lowered himself into the full tub with a content groan that rattled at the edge of Spock's restraint. "Your turn," he grinned, leaning back with his elbows resting on the curved edge of the tub. The steam obscured what lay beneath the water's surface, but there was little doubt as to just how Jim was sitting.

"I am content with observing."

"You promised," Jim insisted. Spock could recall doing no such thing, and he told Jim as much.

"An order, then," Jim sighed reluctantly. "If you have to be like that. Come on, I've been wanting to get you out of those pants all day."

Spock hesitated, then gripped the hem of his shirt. When it passed over his head and he could see again, Jim was watching with unbridled fascination, tracing his lower lip with the tip of his tongue.

"That is very distracting," Spock told him, hands pausing halfway through unzipping his trousers.

"I know" Jim answered absently, not looking away. "It's only fair."

Spock hesitated, pondering Jim's cryptic words, then removed the last of his clothing and entered the tub. Jim drew his legs up against his chest, allowing Spock to sit against the other side of the tub, and the Vulcan closed his eyes briefly in satisfaction as he settled into the warm water. It was rare that he encountered temperatures that were truly agreeable with his disposition, and he had to admit that the familiarity was...comforting, to some degree.

He ignored the first press of Jim's foot against his calf, deciding that it must have been an unintentional movement, and the second contact was undeniably deliberate, tracing down the line of his shin with light, teasing touches.

"Jim," he said, restraining as much of his growing exasperation as he could.

Jim grinned ferally, then leaned forward and gripped the edges of the tub beside Spock's arms, trapping him in one place. Spock stayed perfectly still, feeling a trickle of condensation rolling down the side of his face. Jim tilted his head to consider Spock for a long moment, then leaned forward and caught the drop on his tongue before it could drip from the Vulcan's chin.

Spock ceased to breathe. He felt the water lap against his chest as Jim hoisted himself forward, settling his weight across Spock's hips as his tongue chased higher, flicking teasingly at Spock's closed lips.

"You gonna let me in?" Jim breathed.

"You-" Spock began to say, then grunted in surprise when Jim surged forward, seizing the chance to slide his tongue in Spock's mouth. And from that moment on, the battle was lost. Spock could taste the dizzying sweetness of chocolate on Jim's tongue, with a hint of the tart strawberries in the edges of his mouth. His senses overloaded with the smell of heat and steam and Jim, and he realized abruptly that his hand had found its way into Jim's wet hair, clutching hard at the short strands and pulling him even closer. Their chests brushed against each other, pressed in close, wet skin sliding slick together as they struggled briefly to gain the upper hand.

Spock inevitably won that battle, pushing Jim forcefully to the other side of the tub and pinning him in place with a hand against his chest. Warm water sloshed over the edges of the tub, surging and lapping against his back, and Spock could feel his mind fizzling into blissful blankness as he stared down at Jim, captivated by the sight of hooded blue eyes and smooth, flushed skin.

Jim reached up slowly, wrapping hot, dripping hands around Spock's wrist. He did not attempt to remove Spock's hand, holding him there instead, and shifted his position against the side of the tub, spreading his knees unthinkingly to allow Spock more room between them.

Spock found that his respiratory rate had increased significantly in the past six seconds, and willed himself to calm down. Nevertheless, he could not stop his eyes from roaming, nor his hand from pressing harder against Jim's chest, his free hand sliding up and cupping the side of his neck possessively. His fingertips tingled against damp skin, itching to slide into place and-

His heart stumbled at the thought, a tugging sensation pulling at his gut.

"You gonna look all night?" Jim eventually asked, his voice pitched low and breathless. His eyes seemed too bright in the low lighting, which made little sense, and yet nothing of this situation possessed anything remotely similar to reason.

"Would you allow me to?" Spock replied in kind. He shifted forward, his knees sliding under the back of Jim's thighs. Jim shivered, his hands tightening around Spock's wrist, and parted his lips, the tip of his tongue flicking out unconsciously at the corner of his mouth. "Actually," he said, tilting his chin up towards Spock, "I had something else in mind."

"Do tell," Spock replied, his voice slightly strangled.

Jim frowned at him exasperatedly. "For crying out loud, Spock, will you just kis-"

Spock surged forward, catching that loud, brash, rambling mouth with his own and silencing Jim efficiently. Jim sucked at his tongue distractedly, twining his arms and legs around Spock to keep him in place, and Spock shuddered in reluctant pleasure as they pressed against each other.

Jim tightened his grip for a moment, then pulled away abruptly. Spock blinked as Jim stood and stepped over the edge of the tub, sloshing a wave of water onto the tiled floor.

"Jim?"

"Hold on," Jim called back distantly, drying himself inefficiently with a few swipes of a white towel before depositing said towel on the counter and disappearing naked into the bedroom. Spock waited for a count of fourteen seconds and an indignant noise from the next room before leaving the tub in search of his errant captain.

He found Jim standing guiltily by the chocolate fountain, dark liquid staining his chin and dripping down his chest in what appeared to be a failed attempt at containing it in his mouth.

"It was a good idea," Jim protested, upon noticing Spock's frozen presence in the doorway. "It was gonna be super hot and everything." He rubbed halfheartedly at the mess on his chest with his hands, smearing the chocolate across his skin. Spock swallowed.

"I was planning to come back and, like, feed it to you or something. I mean, this stuff makes you higher than a-" Jim ended with an indignant squawk as Spock stepped forward and pushed him backwards onto the bed with a decisive shove, straddling his legs with a knee on either side of his hips.

"What," Jim spluttered. "What are you- oh."

Spock paused with his fingers still spread across Jim's chest and met his eyes, then deliberately dragged his fingertips through the puddles of cooling chocolate, leaving dark streaks behind as he mapped his way down Jim's abdomen.

"Are you-" Jim tried again, his voice hoarse as he watched. "Are you gonna-"

"Be still," Spock reprimanded gently, touching a finger to Jim's mouth. He watched, fascinated, as a flush came to Jim's face and he parted his lips, a flash of pink tongue darting out to lick the chocolate from the pad of Spock's finger.

"Mmm," Jim uttered, reaching up to grip Spock's wrist, holding him still as he proceeded to clean off the rest of Spock's fingers, and Spock was unable to suppress a shiver at the vibration of Jim's voice against his already sensitive digits. The smell of chocolate was making him heady, each breath seeming to come more reluctantly, and the sight of the dark swirls on Jim's damp skin was a sure test of mental restraint if nothing else.

Jim gave an unexpected thrust of his hips, rolling up against Spock, and the Vulcan bit back a low growl at the gleam of challenge in those glassy blue eyes.

"You are incorrigible," he muttered, pulling his fingers away from Jim's grasping mouth and curling them around Jim's biceps instead, holding his arms to the mattress as he lowered his head and pressed a kiss against the highest drop of chocolate on Jim's collarbone.

"Yeah," Jim sighed, his exhales tickling the top of Spock's head as he followed the trails of chocolate downwards with his tongue, scraping the rougher surface against Jim's skin and reveling in the soft groans of encouragement that followed.

"Yeah, like that- oh  _shit_ , Spock-" Jim's shoulders curled forward automatically, his arms struggling uselessly against Spock's grasp as the Vulcan patiently applied his mouth to his nipple again, his teeth scraping lightly to clean the last of the chocolate away.

"Nnguhhhh," Jim gasped intelligently, his eyes wide and incredulous when Spock glanced up, his tongue flicking out to catch an errant smear at the corner of his mouth.

"Fascinating," Spock stated, shifting his weight around so that Jim was more efficiently pinned beneath him.

Jim groaned at the increased pressure , his arms twitching, and when Spock released him, his hands flew up to clutch at the Vulcan's head, holding him close as Spock renewed his attentions on quivering skin. "You," Jim said, his voice strained and high as Spock sucked a bright red mark above his left pectoral. "Damn…"

He arched helplessly off the bed with a frustrated moan when Spock spread his palms over his hips, holding his lower body down before proceeding to kiss his way down Jim's abdomen. "Spock."

Spock ignored him, and Jim finally noticed the faint flush of green across the tips of those pointy ears, the slight tremor in Spock's hands as they mapped out the skin above his hipbones, pausing to tap at every wayward freckle.  _Chocolate_ , Jim thought, with no small sense of satisfaction, before the thought fizzled away to liquid pleasure as Spock licked a broad stripe down the crease of his thigh.

"Shit-" Jim bucked uselessly, accidentally wrenching at Spock's hair, but the Vulcan only glanced up at him once with reproachful eyes before biting the sensitive flesh of Jim's inner leg.

"Come here," Jim demanded breathlessly. "Come  _here_ ," he repeated, when Spock showed no sign of cooperation. He pulled at the back of Spock's head, reaching down to tug at his arm, until the Vulcan relented and slid back up the length of his torso, burying his face beneath Jim's jaw. His body slotted between Jim's legs in a discoordinated roll that tore a half-coherent curse from Jim, followed by a startled noise when Spock's teeth raked across his skin.

"You- biting-" Jim wheezed. "Spock, I'm gonna-" He hissed in frustration and desperation, groping down to pull Spock's hips hard against his. "Yeah, like that," he panted. "Just like that- shit, Spock-"

"Jim," Spock said, his voice carrying an almost hoarse quality now. His movements were increasing in speed, his hand struggling between their bodies to grasp at the both of them, squeezing just hard enough to take Jim's breath away. "Jim," he muttered again, this time into the crook of his shoulder. He gave one final thrust, stroking up simultaneously and sinking his teeth into the side of Jim's neck, and Jim came with a wordless shout, clutching at Spock's back as the Vulcan stiffened and followed, muffling whatever noise he might have made against Jim's skin.

Spock rolled away all too soon, collapsing on his back beside Jim. Out of the corner of his eye, Jim could see Spock's chest heaving with exertion, only slightly more restrained than his own. Their arms were still touching, and Jim reached down blindly, tangling their fingers together in a loose clasp.

"Holy shit," Jim said, when he'd finally found his voice. He turned his head and grinned dazedly at Spock, who met his gaze with a quirked eyebrow and a small twitch of his mouth. Jim shifted over on his side, ignoring the mess on his stomach and thighs as he threw an arm across Spock's waist.

"Captain?"

"Kinky," Jim murmured automatically, exhaustion finally setting in as his heart rate slowed and his breathing began to even out again. "Sorry, just…..just stay for a bit, okay?" He'd always been a cuddler after sex, preferring the physical intimacy over the emotional. The warmth of another body, unlike empty words and smiles, was much easier to believe in, but this was…...different. This was Spock, and the more Jim thought about it, the more unbelievable the entire scenario was becoming.

"Thanks," he heard himself say, his eyes having closed sometime in the past few seconds without him even noticing. Spock was quiet, but the mattress dipped as the Vulcan rolled over to face him, and Jim felt Spock's face press against the top of his head in a brief kiss that said more than words ever could.

Five more years of this, if they got the mission. And maybe more, he dared to hope. But he'd always taken each day as they came and this moment, right now, was what he'd always wanted and, somehow, more.

It was the only thing he could ask.


End file.
